did, old he said automatically, I lost most of it in the big panic—the panic of the “I sport,” “but war.” I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered, my before he realized that it the appropriate reply. “That’s affair,” wasn’t been in several he corrected himself. was in the drug business and then I “Oh, I’ve things,” “I was in the oil business. But not in either one He looked at me with more attention. I’m now.” you mean been thinking over what I proposed the other “Do you’ve night?” Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight. huge place she cried pointing. “That THERE?” you like “Do it?” love it, but I see how you live there all “I don’t alone.” keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. “I Celebrated people.” Instead of taking the short cut along the Sound we went down the road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees. And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of Merton College I “the Library.” could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter. We went up-stairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, and bathrooms with sunken into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pajamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach “boarder.”
“I did, old sport,” he said automatically, “but I lost most of it in the big panic—the panic of the war.” I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered, “That’s my affair,” before he realized that it wasn’t the appropriate reply. “Oh, I’ve been in several things,” he corrected himself. “I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in either one now.” He looked at me with more attention. “Do you mean you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?” Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight. “That huge place THERE?” she cried pointing. “Do you like it?” “I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.” “I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day. People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.” Instead of taking the short cut along the Sound we went down the road and entered by the big postern. With enchanting murmurs Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees. And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-rooms and Restoration salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of “the Merton College Library.” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter. We went up-stairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing-rooms and poolrooms, and bathrooms with sunken into one chamber where a dishevelled man in pajamas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach