His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn't be over-dreamed —that voice was a deathless song.

The Last Tycoon: An Unfinished Novel : Together with The Great Gatsby and Selected Stories (ed. New York, Scribner, 1941)