The Golden Equator
The party was the kind of party that existed only in July, only on Long Island, only in the summer of 1924, when the air was thick with champagne and the music never stopped and the people who mattered most were the ones who mattered least. Thomas Blair stood on the terrace of the Vanderbilt estate, a glass of something pale and bubbly in his hand, watching the moonlight reflect off the Sound....
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