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F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940) - page 30 / 51

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     “It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said hilariously.  “I can’t—When I try to—”

     He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third.  After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence.  He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity.  Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an overwound clock. (97)

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