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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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LOOKING
BACKWARD
July
sweltered
out
with
a
last
hot
week
,
and
Amory
in
another
surge
of
unrest
realized
that
it
was
just
five
months
since
he
and
Rosalind
had
met
.
Yet
it
was
already
hard
for
him
to
visualize
the
heart-whole
boy
who
had
stepped
off
the
transport
,
passionately
desiring
the
adventure
of
life
.
One
night
while
the
heat
,
overpowering
and
enervating
,
poured
into
the
windows
of
his
room
he
struggled
for
several
hours
in
a
vague
effort
to
immortalize
the
poignancy
of
that
time
.
The
February
streets
,
wind-washed
by
night
,
blow
full
of
strange
half-intermittent
damps
,
bearing
on
wasted
walks
in
shining
sight
wet
snow
plashed
into
gleams
under
the
lamps
,
like
golden
oil
from
some
divine
machine
,
in
an
hour
of
thaw
and
stars
.
Strange
damps
--
full
of
the
eyes
of
many
men
,
crowded
with
life
borne
in
upon
a
lull
...
Oh
,
I
was
young
,
for
I
could
turn
again
to
you
,
most
finite
and
most
beautiful
,
and
taste
the
stuff
