CHAPTER 45

We shook hands with him solemnly and went back outside.

Dancing had begun on the canvas in the garden, with old men pushing young girls

backwards in eternal graceless circles, sophisticated couples holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and staying in the corners—and a great number of single girls.

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Dancing independently or relieving the orchestra momentarily from the burden of the

banjo or percussion. By midnight, the revelry had intensified. A renowned tenor performed in Italian, and a famous contralto sang in jazz. Between the performances,

people were performing 'stunts' all around the garden, while joyous, empty bursts of laughter ascended towards the summer sky. A pair of stage 'twins'—revealed to be the

girls in yellow—performed a baby act in costume, and champagne was served in glasses larger than finger bowls. The moon had climbed higher, and a triangle of silver

scales floated in the Sound, quivering slightly to the stiff, metallic drip of the banjos on the lawn.

I was still with Casey Taylor. We were seated at a table with a man of about my age and

a boisterous young girl who would burst into uncontrollable laughter at the slightest provocation.

I was enjoying myself. I had had two finger bowls of champagne, and the scene had transformed before my eyes into something meaningful, elemental, and profound.