1925, October. Long Island, New York.

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2026-05-27 04:39:41 -

The champagne flowed like water at the Bryant estate, and I danced with women whose names I would forget by morning. Thomas "Tom" Bryant—third-generation immigrant, self-made millionaire in radio communications, and at thirty-two, a man who had everything and felt none of it. The jazz age had arrived, and we were its princes, dancing on the edge of an abyss we refused to name. Then Eleanor...

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