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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby “The dance?” He dismissed all the dances he had given

with a snap of his fingers. “Old sport, the dance is unimportant.” He wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to

Tom and say: “I never loved you.” After she had obliterated four years with that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back to Louisville and be married from her house —just as if it were five years ago. “And she doesn‟t understand,” he said. “She used to be able

to understand. We‟d sit for hours ——” He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate

path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers. “I wouldn‟t ask too much of her,” I ventured. “You can‟t

repeat the past.” “Can‟t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of

course you can!” He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking

here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand. “I‟m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he

said, nodding determinedly. “She‟ll see.” He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps,

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