The Last Champagne of the Jazz Age
The Last Champagne of the Jazz Age The telephone rang at half past five, and Rosie Delaney picked it up with one hand covering her eyes and the other reaching across her desk, still blurry with sleep from a twenty-minute catnap at her typewriter. "Hello?" "Rosie, the editor-in-chief wants the manuscripts by half past five tomorrow morning. Bring them to me, or I'll carry dynamite to your...
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