弗朗西斯?菲茨杰拉德致女儿（4）

    i have begun to fear that you don't. you don't realize that  here is the last tired effort of a man  finer and better. there is not enough energy, or call it money, to carry anyone ht and i am angry and resentful in my soul  this. people like—and your mother must be carried because their illness makes them useless. but it is a different story that you have spent t no useful  neither your body nor your mind, but only  reams and reams of dreary letters to dreary people,  invitations o on, even in your sleep, so that i kno  for the post. it is like an old gossip ue.

    you have reached the age , for it looks on old things es. the adolescent offers nothing, can do nothing, say nothing that the adult cannot do better. living lect, by  school, less ly after that…

    to sum up: ligible since the time you made yourself a good diver at camp (and noirl”, vintage of 1925, i'm not interested. i don't  oing somens of life and intention in you, there is no company in the  in your belly, some real gusto for life—a real dream of your o solid before it  ot around to it. once  e— noh school— er interested in your promissory notes but only in e at my age. uide book. i'm not interested in dates and places, even the battle of ne, unless it's natural— just true and real.

    p. p. s. e? i wrote it over twice.</p>

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