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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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"
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Leland
R.
Connage
are
announcing
the
engagement
of
their
daughter
,
Rosalind
,
to
Mr.
J.
Dawson
Ryder
,
of
Hartford
,
Connecticut
--
"
He
dropped
the
paper
and
lay
down
on
his
bed
with
a
frightened
,
sinking
sensation
in
the
pit
of
his
stomach
.
She
was
gone
,
definitely
,
finally
gone
.
Until
now
he
had
half
unconsciously
cherished
the
hope
deep
in
his
heart
that
some
day
she
would
need
him
and
send
for
him
,
cry
that
it
had
been
a
mistake
,
that
her
heart
ached
only
for
the
pain
she
had
caused
him
.
Never
again
could
he
find
even
the
sombre
luxury
of
wanting
her
--
not
this
Rosalind
,
harder
,
older
--
nor
any
beaten
,
broken
woman
that
his
imagination
brought
to
the
door
of
his
forties
--
Amory
had
wanted
her
youth
,
the
fresh
radiance
of
her
mind
and
body
,
the
stuff
that
she
was
selling
now
once
and
for
all
.
So
far
as
he
was
concerned
,
young
Rosalind
was
dead
.
A
day
later
came
a
crisp
,
terse
letter
from
Mr.
Barton
in
Chicago
,
which
informed
him
that
as
three
more
street-car
companies
had
gone
into
the
hands
of
receivers
he
could
expect
for
the
present
no
further
remittances
.
Last
of
all
,
on
a
dazed
Sunday
night
,
a
telegram
told
him
of
Monsignor
Darcy
's
sudden
death
in
Philadelphia
five
days
before
.
He
knew
then
what
it
was
that
he
had
perceived
among
the
curtains
of
the
room
in
Atlantic
City
.
"
A
fathom
deep
in
sleep
I
lie
With
old
desires
,
restrained
before
,
To
clamor
lifeward
with
a
cry
,
As
dark
flies
out
the
greying
door
;
And
so
in
quest
of
creeds
to
share
I
seek
assertive
day
again
...
