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F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby

pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn‟t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest‟s shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing — my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom

and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting verandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee. Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely

shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl. “We don‟t know each other very well, Nick,” she said

suddenly. “Even if we are cousins. You didn‟t come to my wedding.” “I wasn‟t back from the war.”

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