Cookies of the Golden Age
ACT I: THE WASTE The Sunday舞会 at the Vanderbilt mansion smelled of gardenias and money. I stood in the kitchen on the third floor, peeling apples for a tart that would never be eaten, and watched through the service window as the cream was unloaded from the delivery cart. Twelve buckets. Each one filled to the brim with fresh cream from the Vanderbilt dairy in Westchester. By midnight, half of...
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