The younger of the two was a stranger to me. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motor-boat that bumped the tide offshore.
There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York—and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
He found the house, a weather-beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. Two shining arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward.
I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. He had casually conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood. The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression—then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man.
Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor. She was extended full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall.
And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having disturbed her by coming in.
Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.
It was a body capable of enormous leverage—a cruel body. It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.
Again a sort of apology arose to my lips. And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all.
It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America.
Nov 27, 14 This will take multiple posts to submit, sorry. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans.
The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men.
Most of the confidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revelations of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions.
Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax.
She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker.As of 30 Novemberthe cytopix.com website and forum is no longer available. iiNet and the team would like to thank everyone who was involved in the community of readers, players, downloaders and lurkers alike for their support over the years.
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