Scott Fitzgerald (Katy dos Passos told me this). Man who wrote that he modeled his life on Scott and his writings. Didn’t come to dinner and they waited for him till ten-thirty, when he appeared, absolutely plastered, said Mishter-Fishgerald-Thishishhonour! and collapsed on couch. There he lay – my creation! His wife had hysterics and they got her to lie down – when they came back, he had disappeared – wife alarmed, they searched house – but he had gone away, overcome by shame, leaving car, which it took seven men to get out of the mire.

Edmund Wilson, “The Thirties”.

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