The Tales of the Jazz Age (Beloved Books Edition)

bred-in-the-bone, dyed-in-the-wo

you warned me to be free and keep my measure of youth and irresponsibility

Caroline was dazzling and light, with a shimmering morass of russet waves to take the place of hair, and the sort of features that remind you of kisses—the sort of features you thought belonged to your first love, but know, when you come across an old picture, didn't.

Love is fragile—she was thinking—but perhaps the pieces are saved, the things that hovered on lips, that might have been said. The new love words, the tendernesses learned, are treasured up for the next lover.