What the Harbor Reflects
The Avery townhouse on Gramercy Park stood at the corner of a street that had decided long ago not to change. In December of 1925, while the speakeasies on Fifty-Second Street throbbed with saxophones and the new money of men who had made fortunes in things nobody quite named, the Avery dining room was lit by candles that cost more than a week of most people's wages. The table was mahogany. The...
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