The sky lay over the city like a map showing the strata of things and the big full moon toppled over in a furrow like the abandoned wheel of a gun carriage on a sunset field of battle and the shadows walked like cats and I looked into the white and ghostly interior of things and thought of you and I looked on their structural outsides and thought of you and was lonesome.
Zelda FitzgeraldAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: July 24, 1900
- Died: March 10, 1948