I mean the curse that sometimes dogs a man, day and night; the curse of misfortune.

I was hungry that night in Paris; I have been hungry many times since, I have held honorable places; to-day, I become a servant at seventy-five dollars a month and my bread and butter.

A private secretary." "But why aren't you with some newspaper ?" asked Fitzgerald, breaking his eggs.
Breitmann drew up his shoulders.

"For the same reason that I am renting my brains as a private secretary.

It was the last thing I could find, and still retain a little self-respect.