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Updated: July 27, 2025
"Well," said Gloria. A pause Muriel turned to Dick. "You're a great writer, aren't you?" "I'm a writer," he confessed sheepishly. "I always say," said Muriel earnestly, "that if I ever had time to write down all my experiences it'd make a wonderful book." Rachael giggled sympathetically; Richard Caramel's bow was almost stately. Muriel continued: "But I don't see how you can sit down and do it.
It was Richard Caramel's voice, stilted and facetious: "Announcing Miss Gloria Gilbert." "How do you do?" he said, smiling and holding the door ajar. Dick bowed. "Gloria, this is Anthony." "Well!" she cried, holding out a little gloved hand. Under her fur coat her dress was Alice-blue, with white lace crinkled stiffly about her throat. "Let me take your things."
Anthony looked at his companion. Richard Caramel's nose and brow were slowly approaching a like pigmentation; the red was leaving the one, the blue deserting the other. Glancing in a mirror, Anthony was glad to find that his own skin had not discolored. On the contrary, a faint glow had kindled in his cheeks he fancied that he had never looked so well.
He got up absent-mindedly and left the room. A little later she called to him and he went out and brought her some potato salad and cold chicken from the delicatessen. At two o'clock Richard Caramel's car arrived at the door and, when he phoned up, Anthony took Gloria down in the elevator and walked with her to the curb. She told her cousin that it was sweet of him to take her riding.
Everywhere I go some silly girl asks me if I've read 'This Side of Paradise. Are our girls really like that? If it's true to life, which I don't believe, the next generation is going to the dogs. I'm sick of all this shoddy realism. I think there's a place for the romanticist in literature." Anthony tried to remember what he had read lately of Richard Caramel's.
Anthony, grown accustomed to the dark, could see plainly the flash of Richard Caramel's yellow eye and the look of resentment on his face as he cried: "You're crazy! By your own statement I should have attained some experience by trying." "Trying what?" cried Maury fiercely. "Trying to pierce the darkness of political idealism with some wild, despairing urge toward truth?
Anthony dressed and went out, as he should have done long before, and down to Richard Caramel's room to hear the last revision of the last chapter of "The Demon Lover." He did not call Gloria again until six. He did not find her in until eight and oh, climax of anticlimaxes! she could give him no engagement until Tuesday afternoon.
A week later he had begun "The Demon Lover."... In January, the Monday of the months, Richard Caramel's nose was blue constantly, a sardonic blue, vaguely suggestive of the flames licking around a sinner. His book was nearly ready, and as it grew in completeness it seemed to grow also in its demands, sapping him, overpowering him, until he walked haggard and conquered in its shadow.
Richard Caramel's face, Anthony saw, was now quite normal. The brow and cheeks were of a flesh color, the nose politely inconspicuous. He had fixed his aunt with the bright-yellow eye, giving her that acute and exaggerated attention that young males are accustomed to render to all females who are of no further value. "Are you a writer too, Mr.
That anything so ingenuous, so priggish, as a sense of waste should oppress him was absurd, but there was no denying the fact that some unwelcome survival of a fetish had drawn him three weeks before down to the public library, where, by the token of Richard Caramel's card, he had drawn out half a dozen books on the Italian Renaissance.
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