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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby

“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly. That was it. I‟d never understood before. It was full of

money —that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals‟ song of it. . . . high in a white palace the king‟s daughter, the golden girl. . . . Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a

towel, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and carrying light capes over their arms. “Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the

hot, green leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.” “Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom. “Yes.” “Well, you take my coupe and let me drive your car to

town.” The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby. “I don‟t think there‟s much gas,” he objected. “Plenty of gas,” said Tom boisterously. He looked at the

gauge. “And if it runs out I can stop at a drug-store. You can buy anything at a drug-store nowadays.” A pause followed this apparently pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom frowning, and an indefinable expression, at once

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