But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding.He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.
It happens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.” I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one of the crises of my life. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay’s , starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering toward the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. “I can’t wait all day.” “Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.” He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane.
“Five years next November.” The automatic quality of Gatsby’s answer set us all back at least another minute.
I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.
But, because the offer was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him off there. “I’m much obliged but I couldn’t take on any more work.” “You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfsheim.” Evidently he thought that I was shying away from the “gonnegtion” mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. At eleven o’clock a man in a raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that Mr. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggy, whitewashed alleys and to buy some cups and lemons and flowers. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.
He waited a moment longer, hoping I’d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home. The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby’s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. Daisy’s face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.