The party was everything that a Long Island party in the autumn of 1928 was supposed to be: jazz bleeding through open French doors, gin flowing like water through Prohibition-era America, and enough
She had been brought here by Julian Ross, who believed that every social gathering was a transaction and every transaction was an opportunity. Julian believed this with the fervor of a man who had made money by believing things other men considered absurd. "You'll meet some interesting people," he had told her in the cab on Third Avenue, adjusting his tie in the reflection of the window like a...
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