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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby

flowers — but outside Gatsby‟s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound. “If it wasn‟t for the mist we could see your home across the

bay,” said Gatsby. “You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.” Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed

absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one. I began to walk about the room, examining various

indefinite objects in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk. “Who‟s this?” “That? That‟s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.” The name sounded faintly familiar. “He‟s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.”

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