August 21, 2012

  •      I was a bridesmaid. I came into her room half an hour before the bridal dinner, and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June night in her flowered dress- and as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other. 
         "Gratulate me," she muttered. "Never had a drink before, but oh how I do enjoy it."
         "What's the matter, Daisy?"
         I was scared, I can tell you; I'd never seen a girl like that before.
         "Here, deares'." She groped around in a waste-basket she had with her on the bed and pulled out the string of pearls. "Take 'em down-stairs and give 'em back to whoever they belong to. Tell 'em all Daisy's change' her mine. Say: Daisy's change' her mine!"
         She began to cry- she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her mother's maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. She wouldn't let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.
    -F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby