The Sleepwalker's Waltz
The party was exactly the kind of party that made Bea Langford want to write about it and also want to set it on fire. Somewhere in the ballroom of the Vanderbilt estate on East 75th Street, a jazz band was playing something fast and syncopated while women in dropped-waist dresses spun across the floor in a blur of fringe and sequins. Champagne flowed like water at a wedding, and every third...
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