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 By the time you sign a contract with Schwarzstein you'll be an old man, Auburn Six assured him.

What do you mean? There was a hopeful gleam in Ambrose's eye.

Haven't you heard how busy Schwarzstein is? Auburn Six selected a cigarette from a bowl of dried rose petals.

Ambrose wondered if he had.

He's the busiest man in Culver City. He's too busy to see you in a couple of years.

I want to go home. Ambrose announced suddenly. I never wanted to come out here at all. I don't know a thing about pictures. They dragged me here, he protested. Then, Where's everybody gone?

The room, indeed, appeared to be, but for them, entirely deserted. Ambrose turned to a tray of filled champagne glasses that remained on the piano. As he lifted one of these to his lips he was aware that Auburn Six was regarding him with a peculiar intensity.

If you don't know anything about pictures, she was saying, you ought to be better than any script-writer out here. Everybody's looking for a writer who admits he doesn't know anything about pictures, at least they say they are. It's certain that all