[H]e looked now like a man of thirty. Instead of being delighted, he was uneasy—he was growing younger. He… — F.Scott Fitzgerald

[H]e looked now like a man of thirty. Instead of being delighted, he was uneasy—he was growing younger. He had hitherto hoped that once he reached a bodily age equivalent to his age in years, the grotesque phenomenon which had marked his birth would cease to function. He shuddered. His destiny seemed to him awful, incredible.

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