The Last Charleston
She was reading Baudelaire in a corner of the ballroom, which was itself an act of defiance. The room was full of people dancing the Charleston, champagne flowing, jazz bands sweating through another set of "Honky Tonk Town." And there she sat, cross-legged on a velvet chair, a first-edition Les Fleurs du mal open in her lap, completely unread by anyone within twenty feet. Thomas Winthrop had...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima