I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him off there. got my hands I said. much obliged but I take on any more “I’ve full,” “I’m couldn’t work.” have to do any business with Evidently he thought that I was shying “You wouldn’t Wolfsheim.” away from the mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a “gonnegtion.” moment longer, hoping begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he I’d went unwillingly home. The evening had made me light-headed and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many didn’t hours he into while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the “glanced rooms.” office next morning, and invited her to come to tea. bring I warned her. “Don’t Tom,” “What?” bring “Don’t Tom.” is she asked innocently. “Who ‘Tom’?” The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven a man in a raincoat, dragging a o’clock tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. 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. The flowers were unnecessary, for at two a greenhouse arrived from with o’clock Gatsby’s, innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-colored tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. everything all he asked immediately. “Is right?” grass looks fine, if what you “The that’s mean.”
I realize now that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one of the crises of my life. 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’ve got my hands full,” I said. “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. 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 evening had made me light-headed and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I didn’t know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he “glanced into rooms.” while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning, and invited her to come to tea. “Don’t bring Tom,” I warned her. “What?” “Don’t bring Tom.” “Who is ‘Tom’?” she asked innocently. The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o’clock a man in a raincoat, dragging a tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. 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. The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsby’s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-colored tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes. “Is everything all right?” he asked immediately. “The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean.”
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