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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby

into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow. But she didn‟t say another word. We gave her spirits of

ammonia and put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five o‟clock she married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a three months‟ trip to the South Seas. I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I

thought I‟d never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a minute she‟d look around uneasily, and say: “Where‟s Tom gone?” and wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together — it made you laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got into the papers, too, because her arm was broken

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