The Last Star at East Egg
The party was exactly the kind of party that only money can buy and meaning cannot fill. It was late July 1925, and the heat in East Egg was the kind that made the champagne warm in the glass before you had finished your first sip. Crystal chandeliers threw prismatic light across the lawn where guests in white linen and silk laughed too loudly at jokes that were not funny. A jazz band played on...
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