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of [%04%] her. As a matter of fact, he had no such facilities â€" he had no comfortable family standing behind him, and he was liable at the whim of an impersonal government to be


blown anywhere about the world. But he didn’t [%y9%] despise himself and it didn’t turn out as he had imagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go â€" but


now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize just how extraordinary a “nice” girl



could be. She vanished into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby â€" nothing. He felt married to her, that was all.



When they met again, two days later, it was Gatsby who was breathless, who was, somehow, betrayed. Her porch was bright with the bought luxury of



star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth. She had caught a cold, and it made her


voice huskier and more charming than ever, and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes,



and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor. “I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out



I loved her, old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different


things from her.... Well, there I was, ‘way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great



things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?” On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time. It


was a cold fall day, with fire in the room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The



afternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer in their month of



love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers,



gently, as [%y9%] though she were asleep. He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he went to the front, and following the Argonne battles he got his majority and



the command of the divisional machine-guns. After the Armistice he tried frantically to get home, but some complication or misunderstanding sent him to Oxford



instead. He was worried now â€" there was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see why he couldn’t come. she was hiling the pressure of the world outside,




and she wanted to see him and hil his presence beside her and be rehiured that she was doing [%04%] the right thing after all. For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent .









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