sample-満唐春-V-02-202605271723 txt
The champagne glasses caught the light like tiny furnaces, each one a miniature blaze of gold against the white tablecloths of the Plaza Hotel. Henry Ashworth stood at the edge of the ballroom, his tuxedo feeling like a costume he had borrowed from a man who had lived a better life. Below him, the city glittered. 1925. The Jazz Age in full flood, its golden tide washing over everything it...
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