I looked at Daisy, who was staring, terrified, at Gatsby and her husband. Then I turned back to Gatsby, and was shocked by his expression. The words of the girl at his party came back to me: You look at him sometimes when he thinks nobody's looking at him. I'm sure he's killed a man. For a moment the look on his face could be described in just that fantastic way. It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, trying to persuade her that the accusations against him were not true. But with every word of his, she was drawing further and further into herself, so he stopped that, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying unhappily to reach that lost voice across the room. The voice begged again to go. Please, Tom! I can't stand this any more.' er frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever determination she had had, were gone forever. You two start on home, Daisy,' said Tom. "In Mr Gatsby's car." He added scornfully, "Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his arrogant little attempt at an affair is over.' They were gone, without a word. After a moment or two, we left too. Jordan and I got into the coupe with Tom, and we started for Long Island. Tom was very pleased with himself talking and laughing all the way, but Jordan and I were not has its limits, and we were happy listening. Human sympathy to let their arguments disappear into the distance, like the lights of I had just remembered it was my thirtieth the city birthday. Thirty the promise of years of loneliness ahead of me, a thinning list of single men to know, thinning enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge, her pale face fell lazily against my shoulder, and with her warm hand in mine, the fear of being thirty died away So we drove on toward death through the cooling half-light. The Greek, Michaelis, who owned the restaurant beside young the ash-heaps, was the main witness at the inquest. At five in the afternoon he had walked over to the garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office really sick, pale as his own pale hair and all over. Michaelis advised him to go shaking to bed, but Wilson refused, he didn't want to lose any saying he didn't want to lose any business. Suddenly there was violent banging and shouting from upstairs. I've got my wife locked in up there,' Wilson explained to his neighbor. She's going to stay there till the day after tomorrow. Then we're going to move away. Michaelis was extremely surprised, as Wilson had always seems a very quiet little man, incapable of such behavior. He went back to his restaurant, and didn't come out again until seven o'clock, when he heard Mrs Wilson's voice crying loudly from the garage, Beat me! Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward! later she darkness,
I looked at Daisy, who was staring, terrified, at Gatsby and her husband. Then I turned back to Gatsby, and was shocked by his expression. The words of the girl at his party came back to me: You look at him sometimes when he thinks nobody's looking at him. I'm sure he's killed a man. For a moment the look on his face could be described in just that fantastic way. It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, trying to persuade her that the accusations against him were not true. But with every word of his, she was drawing further and further into herself, so he stopped that, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying unhappily to reach that lost voice across the room. The voice begged again to go. Please, Tom! I can't stand this any more.' er frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever determination she had had, were gone forever. You two start on home, Daisy,' said Tom. "In Mr Gatsby's car." He added scornfully, "Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his arrogant little attempt at an affair is over.' They were gone, without a word. After a moment or two, we left too. Jordan and I got into the coupe with Tom, and we started for Long Island. Tom was very pleased with himself talking and laughing all the way, but Jordan and I were not has its limits, and we were happy listening. Human sympathy to let their arguments disappear into the distance, like the lights of I had just remembered it was my thirtieth the city birthday. Thirty the promise of years of loneliness ahead of me, a thinning list of single men to know, thinning enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge, her pale face fell lazily against my shoulder, and with her warm hand in mine, the fear of being thirty died away So we drove on toward death through the cooling half-light. The Greek, Michaelis, who owned the restaurant beside young the ash-heaps, was the main witness at the inquest. At five in the afternoon he had walked over to the garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office really sick, pale as his own pale hair and all over. Michaelis advised him to go shaking to bed, but Wilson refused, he didn't want to lose any saying he didn't want to lose any business. Suddenly there was violent banging and shouting from upstairs. I've got my wife locked in up there,' Wilson explained to his neighbor. She's going to stay there till the day after tomorrow. Then we're going to move away. Michaelis was extremely surprised, as Wilson had always seems a very quiet little man, incapable of such behavior. He went back to his restaurant, and didn't come out again until seven o'clock, when he heard Mrs Wilson's voice crying loudly from the garage, Beat me! Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward! later she darkness,
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