"You ought to go away," I said. "It''s pretty certain they''ll trabsp;your car."
"Go away now, old sport?"
"Go to Atlantibsp;City for a week, or up to Montreal."
He wouldn''t sider it. He couldn''t possibly leave Daisy until he knew what she was going to do. He was clutg at some last hope and I couldn''t bear to shake him free.
It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody—told it to me bebsp;"Jay Gatsby" had broken up like glass against Tom''s hard malibsp;and the long cret extravaganza was played out. I think that he would have aowledged anything, now, without rerve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy.
She was the first "nice" girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed capacities he had e in tabsp;with subsp;people but always with indisible barbed wire between. He found her exgly desirable. He went to her hou, at first with other officers from Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him—he had never been in subsp;a beautiful hou before. But what gave it an air of breathless iy was that Daisy lived there—it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking plabsp;through its corridors and of romanbsp;that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year''s shining motor cars and of danbsp;who flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy—it incread her value in his eyes. He felt their prenbsp;all about the hou, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.
"You ought to go away," I said. "It''s pretty certain they''ll trabsp;your car."
"Go away now, old sport?"
"Go to Atlantibsp;City for a week, or up to Montreal."
He wouldn''t sider it. He couldn''t possibly leave Daisy until he knew what she was going to do. He was clutg at some last hope and I couldn''t bear to shake him free.
It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody—told it to me bebsp;"Jay Gatsby" had broken up like glass against Tom''s hard malibsp;and the long cret extravaganza was played out. I think that he would have aowledged anything, now, without rerve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy.
She was the first "nice" girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed capacities he had e in tabsp;with subsp;people but always with indisible barbed wire between. He found her exgly desirable. He went to her hou, at first with other officers from Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him—he had never been in subsp;a beautiful hou before. But what gave it an air of breathless iy was that Daisy lived there—it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms upstairs more beautiful and cool than other bedrooms, of gay and radiant activities taking plabsp;through its corridors and of romanbsp;that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year''s shining motor cars and of danbsp;who flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy—it incread her value in his eyes. He felt their prenbsp;all about the hou, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.