The Last Serpent of 1929
The champagne tasted like victory and everyone in the room was drunk on it. I stood at the edge of the ballroom in the Vandergilt mansion on Long Island, watching the young men and women of the Jazz Age spin through the Charleston with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. They danced like the world was ending, because of course it was ending. I had known it since the beginning. I had always...
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