F. Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby “Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.” He walked
around the room quickly, ringing bells. “I‟ll have something to drink for you in just a minute.” He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there.
But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Sloane wanted nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks. . . . I‟m sorry —— “Did you have a nice ride?” “Very good roads around here.” “I suppose the automobiles ——” “Yeah.” Moved by an irresistible impulse, Gatsby turned to Tom,
who had accepted the introduction as a stranger. “I believe we‟ve met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.” “Oh, yes,” said Tom, gruffly polite, but obviously not
remembering. “So we did. I remember very well.” “About two weeks ago.” “That‟s right. You were with Nick here.” “I know your wife,” continued Gatsby, almost aggressively. “That so?” Tom turned to me. “You live near here, Nick?”