“He and this Wolfsheim bought up a lot ofside-street drug-stores here and in Chicago and sold grain al-cohol over the counter. “I found out what your ‘drug-stores’ were.” He turned to usand spoke rapidly. I’ve made a little investigation into your af-fairs - and I’ll carry it further to-morrow.” “You can suit yourself about that, old sport.” said Gatsbysteadily. “You’re one of thatbunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfsheim - that much I 102 “Oh, please let’s get out.” “Who are you, anyhow?” broke out Tom. “Certainly not for a common swindler who’d haveto steal the ring he put on her finger.” “I won’t stand this!” cried Daisy. “She’s not leaving me!” Tom’s words suddenly leaned downover Gatsby. “Why’s that?” “Daisy’s leaving you.” “Nonsense.” “I am, though,” she said with a visible effort. I’m going to take better care of youfrom now on.” “You don’t understand,” said Gatsby, with a touch of panic.“You’re not going to take care of her any more.” “I’m not?” Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. “It wouldn’t be true.” “Of course it wouldn’t,” agreed Tom. “She’s all ex-cited now -” “Even alone I can’t say I never loved Tom,” she admitted in apitiful voice. “I want to speak to Daisy alone,” he insisted. Why - there’re things between Daisy and me thatyou’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget.” The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby. “I did love him once - but I loved you too.” Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed. “I love younow - isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She beganto sob helplessly. “Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. Suddenlyshe threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet. “There, Jay,” she said - but herhand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. “Daisy?” “Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancor was gonefrom it. “Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl tokeep your shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in histone…. “No.” 101įrom the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chordswere drifting up on hot waves of air. “Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly. “I never loved him,” she said, with perceptible reluctance. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort ofappeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing -and as though she had never, all along, intended doing any-thing at all. “Why - how could I love him -possibly?” “You never loved him.” She hesitated. Just tell him the truth - that you never lovedhim - and it’s all wiped out forever.” She looked at him blindly. “Daisy, that’s all over now,” he said earnestly. She turned to me, and hervoice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrillingscorn: “Do you know why we left Chicago? I’m surprised thatthey didn’t treat you to the story of that little spree.” Gatsby walked over and stood beside her. Once ina while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I al-ways come back, and in my heart I love her all the time.” “You’re revolting,” said Daisy. The trouble is that sometimes she getsfoolish ideas in her head and doesn’t know what she’s doing.”He nodded sagely. Daisy loved me when she marriedme and she loves me now.” “No,” said Gatsby, shaking his head. But all the restof that’s a God damned lie. “I can’t speak about whathappened five years ago, because I didn’t know Daisy then -and I’ll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her un-less you brought the groceries to the back door. I used to laugh sometimes.”- but there was no laughterin his eyes -” to think that you didn’t know.” “Oh - that’s all.” Tom tapped his thick fingers together likea clergyman and leaned back in his chair. But both ofus loved each other all that time, old sport, and you didn’tknow. “You’ve been seeing this fellow for five years?” “Not seeing,” said Gatsby. “Going on forfive years - and you didn’t know.” Tom turned to Daisy sharply. “I told you what’s been going on,” said Gatsby. And one fine morning-" Gatsby's rise to glory and eventual fall from grace becomes a kind of. It eluded us then, but that's no matter-tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. "Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. Self-made, self-invented millionaire Jay Gatsby embodies some of Fitzgerald's-and his country's-most abiding obsessions: money, ambition, greed, and the promise of new beginnings. A portrait of the Jazz Age in all of its decadence and excess, Gatsby captured the spirit of the author's generation and earned itself a permanent place in American mythology. Scott Fitzgerald announced his decision to write "something new-something extraordinary and beautiful and simple + intricately patterned." That extraordinary, beautiful, intricately patterned, and above all, simple novel became The Great Gatsby, arguably Fitzgerald's finest work and certainly the book for which he is best known.
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