The Keeper of the First World
The champagne bubbled in the glass like liquid gold, and Tom Whitfield watched it go to waste. He had not come to the Ziegfeld Follies to drink champagne. He had come because his father expected it, because the Whitfield name carried certain obligations, because in the world of the upper East Side, presence was its own currency. He left at midnight, slipping out through the kitchen while the...
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