Maximum-assistance view: every word above everyday vocabulary is explained at every appearance; each name is introduced at its first appearance in the chapter.

I

In my younger and more vulnerable (easily hurt) years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

“Whenever you feel like criticizing (to find fault with) anyone,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven (a safe shelter)’t had the advantages that you’ve had.”

He didn (did — didn't: did not)’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually (beyond the usual) communicative (ready to talk) in a reserved (held back; distant in manner) way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence (what follows), I’m inclined (leaning toward) to reserve all judgements (the power of judging; a decision), a habit (a settled way of acting) that has opened up many curious (eager to know; strange) natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran (an old tried soldier) bores (a tiresome person; to weary with dullness; carried). The abnormal (away from the normal) mind is quick to detect (to find out) and attach (to fasten to; to join) itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly (without justice) accused (to charge with wrongdoing) of being a politician (one in politics), because I was privy (privy to: let into a secret) to the secret griefs (deep sorrow) of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought (not looked for)—frequently I have feigned (pretended) sleep, preoccupation (being lost in a thought), or a hostile (of an enemy) levity (light, playful spirits) when I realized by some unmistakable (impossible to mistake) sign that an intimate (closely familiar) revelation (an unveiling; the Bible's last book) was quivering (to tremble finely) on the horizon (where sky meets land); for the intimate (closely familiar) revelations (an unveiling; the Bible's last book) of young men, or at least the terms in which they express them, are usually plagiaristic (copied from others) and marred (to spoil) by obvious suppressions (a holding-back). Reserving judgements (the power of judging; a decision) is a matter of infinite (without end) hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly (looking down on others) suggested, and I snobbishly (looking down on others) repeat (to say or do again), a sense of the fundamental (at the foundation) decencies (proper behaviour) is parcelled (a wrapped package) out unequally (not equally) at birth.

And, after boasting (to praise oneself) this way of my tolerance (patience with others), I come to the admission (letting in; an admitting) that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes (soft wet ground), but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn (the fall season) I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform (a soldier's set dress; all alike) and at a sort of moral (of right and wrong; the lesson) attention forever; I wanted no more riotous (wild and unruly) excursions (a pleasure trip) with privileged (given special rights) glimpses (a brief sight) into the human heart. Only Gatsby (Jay Gatsby, the mysterious rich young man who gives the parties), the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt (freed from a duty) from my reaction—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected (natural; untouched) scorn (proud contempt). If personality is an unbroken (never broken) series of successful gestures (a meaning movement), then there was something gorgeous (splendid) about him, some heightened (to raise higher) sensitivity (quickness to feel) to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate (finely tangled and complex) machines that register earthquakes (a shaking of the ground) ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness (readiness to respond) had nothing to do with that flabby (soft and sagging) impressionability (being easily impressed) which is dignified (full of dignity) under the name of the “creative temperament (one's natural temper)”—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic (of love and adventure) readiness (being ready) such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed (preyed on: fed upon; troubled) on Gatsby, what foul (filthy; against the rules) dust (fine dry earth) floated (to rest on water or air) in the wake of his dreams that temporarily (for a time) closed out my interest (interest: the spectacle that draws a crowd — the old sense here) in the abortive (coming to nothing) sorrows (deep sadness) and short-winded (soon out of breath) elations (high triumphant spirits) of men.

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My family have been prominent (standing out), well-to-do (comfortably off) people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways (Nick's family) are something of a clan (a large family group), and we have a tradition that we’re descended (to go down) from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder (one who founds) of my line was my grandfather (a parent's father)’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute (one put in another's place) to the Civil War, and started the wholesale (selling in large amounts to shops) hardware (goods of metal, tools and the like) business that my father carries on today.

I never saw this great-uncle (a grandparent's brother), but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled (boiled hard) painting that hangs in father’s office. I graduated from New Haven (a safe shelter) in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated (to take part) in that delayed (to put off) Teutonic migration (a moving of peoples) known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid (an attack in return) so thoroughly (through and through) that I came back restless (unable to rest). Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged (torn and tattered) edge of the universe—so I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one more single man. All my aunts (a parent's sister) and uncles (a parent's brother) talked it over as if they were choosing a prep (prep school: a private school preparing for college) school for me, and finally said, “Why—ye-es,” with very grave (the burial pit; solemnly serious), hesitant (holding back) faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays (to put off) I came East, permanently (for good), I thought, in the spring of twenty-two (twenty-two).

The practical (fit for use) thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns (a stretch of cut grass) and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting (travelling daily to work in town) town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten (worn by the weather) cardboard (stiff pasteboard) bungalow (a small one-storey house) at eighty (eighty) a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered (to speak low in the throat) Finnish wisdom (deep good sense) to herself over the electric stove (the heating fireplace of a room).

It was lonely (alone and sad) for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.

“How do you get to West Egg (the newer, showier of the two rich villages, where Gatsby and Nick live) village?” he asked helplessly (unable to help oneself).

I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely (alone and sad) no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder (one who finds the way), an original settler (one who settles in a new land). He had casually (without special intent) conferred (to grant; bestow) on me the freedom of the neighbourhood (the surrounding district).

And so with the sunshine (the sun's warm light) and the great bursts (to break open suddenly) of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction (settled belief; a finding of guilt) that life was beginning over again with the summer.

There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving (giving fresh breath) air. I bought a dozen (twelve) volumes on banking (the business of banks) and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf (a flat holding board) in red and gold like new money from the mint (the place where coins are made; the sharp-tasting herb), promising to unfold (to open out) the shining (the front of the lower leg) secrets that only Midas (the king of legend whose touch turned things to gold) and Morgan (J. P. Morgan, the great American banker) and Maecenas (the rich patron of poets in ancient Rome) knew. And I had the high intention (what one means to do) of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary (of books and writing) in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn (gravely serious) and obvious editorials (a newspaper's leading article) for the Yale News (the university newspaper)—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists (one skilled in one field), the “well-rounded (smooth and complete) man.” This isn (is — isn't: is not)’t just an epigram (a short witty saying)—life is much more successfully (with success) looked at from a single window, after all.

It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender (gracefully thin) riotous (wild and unruly) island which extends (to stretch out) itself due east of New York—and where there are, among other natural curiosities (eagerness to know), two unusual (out of the common) formations (an ordered arrangement) of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous (vastly big) eggs, identical (exactly the same) in contour (outline) and separated only by a courtesy (polite kindness) bay, jut (to stick out) out into the most domesticated (tamed) body of salt water in the Western hemisphere (half of the globe), the great wet barnyard (a farmyard) of Long Island (the island east of New York where the story is set) Sound. They are not perfect ovals (egg-shaped)—like the egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed (to press to pieces) flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance (likeness) must be a source of perpetual (never ending) wonder to the gulls (the grey-and-white sea bird) that fly overhead (above the head). To the wingless (without wings) a more interesting phenomenon (a thing that appears) is their dissimilarity (unlikeness) in every particular except shape and size.

I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable (in the fashion) of the two, though this is a most superficial (on the surface only) tag (a hanging label) to express the bizarre (strange) and not a little sinister (threatening evil) contrast (a set difference) between them. My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty (fifty) yards from the Sound, and squeezed (to press hard) between two huge places that rented for twelve (twelve) or fifteen (fifteen) thousand a season. The one on my right was a colossal (huge) affair (a matter of business; a love matter) by any standard—it was a factual (faithful in fact) imitation (a copy) of some Hôtel de Ville (a French town hall — French) in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking (spanking: brand-new and smart) new under a thin (of little thickness) beard (the chin's hair) of raw ivy (the climbing evergreen vine), and a marble (fine white stone) swimming (for swimming) pool, and more than forty acres (a field measure of land) of lawn (a stretch of cut grass) and garden. It was Gatsby’s mansion (a great house). Or, rather, as I didn (did — didn't: did not)’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion (a great house) inhabited (to live in) by a gentleman (a man of good birth and manners) of that name. My own house was an eyesore (a thing painful to see), but it was a small eyesore (a thing painful to see), and it had been overlooked (to look out over; to miss seeing), so I had a view of the water, a partial (in part only; favoring one side) view of my neighbour (one living near)’s lawn (a stretch of cut grass), and the consoling (to comfort) proximity (nearness) of millionaires (a person worth a million dollars)—all for eighty (eighty) dollars a month.

Across the courtesy (polite kindness) bay the white palaces (a ruler's great house) of fashionable (in the fashion) East Egg (the older, more established rich village across the bay, where the Buchanans live) glittered (to sparkle) along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans (Tom and Daisy). Daisy (Daisy Buchanan, Nick's cousin, the woman Gatsby loves) was my second cousin (an uncle's or aunt's child) once removed, and I’d known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments (a thing done well; a polished skill), had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven (a safe shelter)—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute (sharp) limited excellence at twenty-one (twenty-one) that everything afterward (later) savours (a taste or smell; to enjoy slowly) of anticlimax (a let-down after excitement). His family were enormously (hugely) wealthy (rich)—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach (to blame with sorrow)—but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string (a thin cord) of polo (the horseback ball game of the rich) ponies (a small horse) from Lake Forest (a rich suburb of Chicago). It was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy (rich) enough to do that.

Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted (to be carried along; a snow heap) here and there unrestfully (restlessly) wherever (in whatever place) people played polo (the horseback ball game of the rich) and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone (the speaking wire), but I didn (did — didn't: did not)’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift (to be carried along; a snow heap) on forever seeking, a little wistfully (with sad longing), for the dramatic (striking as a play) turbulence (wild stir) of some irrecoverable (never to be had again) football game.

And so it happened that on a warm windy (full of wind) evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely (hardly) knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate (worked out in detail) than I expected, a cheerful (full of cheer) red-and-white (of red and white) Georgian Colonial mansion (a great house), overlooking (to look out over; to miss seeing) the bay. The lawn (a stretch of cut grass) started at the beach and ran towards the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sundials (a garden clock read by shadow) and brick (baked building clay) walks and burning gardens—finally when it reached the house drifting (to be carried along; a snow heap) up the side in bright vines (a climbing plant) as though from the momentum (moving force) of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing (a soft warm light) now with reflected (to throw back; to think over) gold and wide open to the warm windy (full of wind) afternoon, and Tom Buchanan (Daisy's rich, brutal husband) in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch (a covered entrance).

He had changed since his New Haven (a safe shelter) years. Now he was a sturdy (strong and solid) straw-haired (with straw-coloured hair) man of thirty (thirty), with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious (proudly looking down on others) manner. Two shining (the front of the lower leg) arrogant (overbearingly proud) eyes had established dominance (command) over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning (to tilt against; thin) aggressively (as if ready to attack) forward. Not even the effeminate (unmanly) swank (showy display) of his riding clothes could hide the enormous (vastly big) power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening (shining wetly) boots (a high shoe) until he strained (to stretch hard; a family stock) the top lacing (the cords that tie), and you could see a great pack of muscle (the body's moving flesh) shifting (moving about) when his shoulder moved under his thin (of little thickness) coat (an outer garment). It was a body capable of enormous (vastly big) leverage (the power of a lever)—a cruel (hard-hearted) body.

His speaking voice, a gruff (rough and deep of voice) husky (rough and dry of voice) tenor (the high male voice; the general drift), added to the impression (a mark on the mind) of fractiousness (crossness) he conveyed (to carry; make known). There was a touch of paternal (fatherly) contempt (scorn for the worthless) in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven (a safe shelter) who had hated his guts (the belly's inner parts).

“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate (closely familiar) I always had the impression (a mark on the mind) that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh (rough and severe), defiant (boldly resisting) wistfulness (sad longing) of his own.

We talked for a few minutes on the sunny (full of sunshine) porch (a covered entrance).

“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing (a sudden burst of light) about restlessly (without rest).

Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista (a long view), including in its sweep (to brush clean; to move widely) a sunken (fallen in; sunk) Italian garden, a half acre (a field measure of land) of deep, pungent (sharp and biting to the nose) roses, and a snub-nosed (with a short turned-up nose) motorboat (a boat with an engine) that bumped (a knock; a swelling) the tide (the sea's rise and fall) offshore (out from the shore).

“It belonged (to be one's own; to be part of) to Demaine (a name from Nick's list of the people who came to Gatsby's parties that summer), the oil man.” He turned me around again, politely (with good manners) and abruptly (suddenly and shortly). “We’ll go inside.”

We walked through a high hallway (an entrance passage) into a bright rosy-coloured (pink) space, fragilely (delicately) bound (to tie fast) into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar (partly open) and gleaming (a soft flash of light) white against the fresh grass (the green ground plant) outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze (a light wind) blew through the room, blew curtains (a hanging cloth screen) in at one end and out the other like pale (light in color; whitish) flags, twisting (to wind together) them up toward the frosted (covered with frost) wedding-cake (the tiered cake of a wedding) of the ceiling (the room's overhead surface), and then rippled (a small wave) over the wine-coloured (dark red like wine) rug (a floor covering; a wrap), making a shadow (the dark cast shape) on it as wind does on the sea.

The only completely stationary (standing still) object in the room was an enormous (vastly big) couch (a long seat; to put into words) on which two young women were buoyed (to hold up afloat) up as though upon an anchored (held by an anchor) balloon (the great air-filled globe). They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling (a small wave) and fluttering (to stir with quick light motion) as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip (the lash; to beat) and snap (to break with a crack) of the curtains (a hanging cloth screen) and the groan (to give a deep pained cry) of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom (a deep hollow roar) as Tom Buchanan shut the rear (the back part; to bring up) windows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains (a hanging cloth screen) and the rugs (a floor covering; a wrap) and the two young women ballooned (the great air-filled globe) slowly to the floor.

The younger of the two was a stranger (one unknown) to me. She was extended (to stretch out) full length at her end of the divan (a backless couch), completely motionless (without motion), and with her chin (the jaw's point) raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint (a small suggestion) of it—indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring (to speak in a low soft flow) an apology (a begging of pardon) for having disturbed (to break the quiet of) her by coming in.

The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise—she leaned (to tilt against; thin) slightly forward with a conscientious (careful to do right) expression—then she laughed, an absurd (against all sense), charming (delightfully attractive) little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.

“I’m p-paralysed (paralysed, said with a catch in the voice) with happiness (the state of joy).”

She laughed again, as if she said something very witty (quick with clever words), and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted (a small suggestion) in a murmur (to speak in a low soft flow) that the surname (the family name) of the balancing girl was Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur (to speak in a low soft flow) was only to make people lean (to tilt against; thin) toward her; an irrelevant (beside the point) criticism (fault-finding judgment) that made it no less charming (delightfully attractive).)

At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips (the mouth's edge) fluttered (to stir with quick light motion), she nodded (to bow the head slightly) at me almost imperceptibly (too gradually to notice), and then quickly tipped her head back again—the object she was balancing had obviously tottered (to walk unsteadily) a little and given her something of a fright (sudden fear). Again a sort of apology (a begging of pardon) arose (to come up) to my lips (the mouth's edge). Almost any exhibition (a showing) of complete self-sufficiency (needing no one else) draws a stunned (dazed) tribute (payment owed to a power; honor paid) from me.

I looked back at my cousin (an uncle's or aunt's child), who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling (a shiver of excitement) voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear (the organ of hearing) follows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement (an ordered setting) of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate (full of burning feeling) mouth, but there was an excitement (stirred-up feeling) in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion (forcing; being forced), a whispered (a soft hushed voice) “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering (to hang in the air) in the next hour.

I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen (twelve) people had sent their love through me.

“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically (with rapture).

“The whole town is desolate (empty and lifeless). All the cars have the left rear (the back part; to bring up) wheel painted black as a mourning (grief for the dead; black clothes of grief) wreath (a woven ring of leaves), and there’s a persistent (stubbornly keeping on) wail (to cry long and loud) all night along the north shore (the water's edge).”

“How gorgeous (splendid)! Let’s go back, Tom. Tomorrow!” Then she added irrelevantly (off the point): “You ought (should) to see the baby.”

“I’d like to.”

“She’s asleep (sleeping). She’s three years old. Haven (a safe shelter)’t you ever seen her?”

“Never.”

“Well, you ought (should) to see her. She’s—”

Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering (to hang in the air) restlessly (without rest) about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

“What you doing, Nick?”

“I’m a bond man.”

“Who with?”

I told him.

“Never heard of them,” he remarked (to say; to notice) decisively (with firm decision).

This annoyed (to irritate) me.

“You will,” I answered shortly (soon). “You will if you stay in the East.”

“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing (a quick look) at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert (watchful and ready) for something more. “I’d be a God damned fool (one without sense) to live anywhere else.”

At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such suddenness (sudden speed) that I started—it was the first word she had uttered (complete; to speak) since I came into the room. Evidently (as plainly appears) it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned (to open the mouth wide with tiredness) and with a series of rapid (fast), deft (quick and skillful with the hands) movements stood up into the room.

“I’m stiff (not bending),” she complained (to voice discontent), “I’ve been lying on that sofa (a long padded seat) for as long as I can remember.”

“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted (to answer back sharply), “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”

“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails (a mixed strong drink) just in from the pantry (the food storeroom). “I’m absolutely in training.”

Her host looked at her incredulously (unable to believe).

“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.”

I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender (gracefully thin), small-breasted (with a small bust) girl, with an erect (to raise up; upright) carriage (a wheeled passenger vehicle; bearing), which she accentuated (to make stand out more) by throwing her body backward (toward the back) at the shoulders like a young cadet (a young officer in training). Her grey (the colour between black and white) sun-strained (strained by the sun) eyes looked back at me with polite (well-mannered) reciprocal (given in return) curiosity (eagerness to know) out of a wan (pale and worn), charming (delightfully attractive), discontented (unhappiness with one's lot) face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

“You live in West Egg,” she remarked (to say; to notice) contemptuously (with scorn). “I know somebody there.”

“I don’t know a single—”

“You must know Gatsby.”

“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?”

Before I could reply that he was my neighbour (one living near) dinner was announced; wedging (a driving triangular block) his tense (stiff with strain) arm imperatively (as a command) under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled (to force) me from the room as though he were moving a checker (a piece in a board game moved square to square) to another square.

Slenderly (slimly), languidly (without energy; limply), their hands set lightly (with light touch) on their hips, the two young women preceded (to come before) us out on to a rosy-coloured (pink) porch (a covered entrance), open toward the sunset (the sun's going down), where four candles (a wax light) flickered (to burn unsteadily) on the table in the diminished (made smaller) wind.

“Why candles (a wax light)?” objected Daisy, frowning (to draw the brows in displeasure). She snapped (to break with a crack) them out with her fingers (a digit of the hand). “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at us all radiantly (with shining brightness). “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”

“We ought (should) to plan something,” yawned (to open the mouth wide with tiredness) Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.

“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly (unable to help oneself): “What do people plan?”

Before I could answer her eyes fastened (fixed firmly on) with an awed (filled with awe) expression on her little finger (a digit of the hand).

“Look!” she complained (to voice discontent); “I hurt it.”

We all looked—the knuckle (a finger joint) was black and blue.

“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly (as if blaming). “I know you didn (did — didn't: did not)’t mean to, but you did do it. That’s what I get for marrying (to take in marriage) a brute (an animal; a beast) of a man, a great, big, hulking (big and heavy) physical specimen (a sample; example) of a—”

“I hate that word ‘hulking (big and heavy),’ ” objected Tom crossly (in a bad temper), “even in kidding.”

“Hulking (big and heavy),” insisted (to press firmly) Daisy.

Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively (without drawing notice) and with a bantering (playful teasing talk) inconsequence (not following on) that was never quite chatter (quick idle talk), that was as cool as their white dresses and their impersonal (without personal feeling) eyes in the absence (being away) of all desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite (well-mannered) pleasant (pleasing) effort to entertain (to amuse; to host) or to be entertained (to amuse; to host). They knew that presently (soon; now) dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually (without special intent) put away. It was sharply (keenly) different from the West, where an evening was hurried (to move with haste) from phase to phase towards its close, in a continually (over and over without stop) disappointed (to fail one's hopes) anticipation (eager expectation) or else in sheer (utter; straight down) nervous (easily shaken) dread (deep fear) of the moment itself.

“You make me feel uncivilized (not civilised), Daisy,” I confessed (to own up; to make confession) on my second glass of corky (tasting of cork) but rather impressive (striking the mind) claret (deep wine-red). “Can’t you talk about crops (the harvest) or something?”

I meant nothing in particular by this remark (to say; to notice), but it was taken up in an unexpected (not looked for) way.

“Civilization (the ordered life of nations)’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently (with violent force). “I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist (one who expects the worst) about things. Have you read The Rise of the Coloured Empires by this man Goddard?”

“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone (a sound's quality; a manner).

“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought (should) to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be—will be utterly (completely) submerged (to sink under water). It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”

“Tom’s getting very profound (deep),” said Daisy, with an expression of unthoughtful (heedless) sadness (sorrow). “He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we—”

“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted (to press firmly) Tom, glancing (a quick look) at her impatiently (with restless eagerness). “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to us, who are the dominant (ruling over) race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.”

“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered (a soft hushed voice) Daisy, winking (to close one eye quickly) ferociously (fiercely) toward the fervent (burning with feeling) sun.

“You ought (should) to live in California—” began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted (to break in upon) her by shifting (moving about) heavily in his chair.

“This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and—” After an infinitesimal (endlessly small) hesitation (a pause of doubt) he included Daisy with a slight (small; to treat as of no account) nod (to bow the head slightly), and she winked (to close one eye quickly) at me again. “—And we’ve produced all the things that go to make civilization (the ordered life of nations)—oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?”

There was something pathetic (stirring pity) in his concentration (massing; fixed attention), as if his complacency (smug satisfaction), more acute (sharp) than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone (the speaking wire) rang (sounded) inside and the butler (the chief manservant) left the porch (a covered entrance) Daisy seized (to grab; take hold) upon the momentary (lasting a moment) interruption (a breaking in) and leaned (to tilt against; thin) towards me.

“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered (a soft hushed voice) enthusiastically (with burning eagerness). “It’s about the butler (the chief manservant)’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler (the chief manservant)’s nose?”

“That’s why I came over tonight.”

“Well, he wasn (was — wasn't: was not)’t always a butler (the chief manservant); he used (use: habit; custom — the old sense here) to be the silver polisher (one who polishes) for some people in New York that had a silver service for two hundred people. He had to polish (to rub bright) it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose—”

“Things went from bad to worse,” suggested Miss Baker.

“Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position.”

For a moment the last sunshine (the sun's warm light) fell with romantic (of love and adventure) affection (warm love) upon her glowing (a soft warm light) face; her voice compelled (to force) me forward breathlessly (holding one's breath) as I listened—then the glow (a soft warm light) faded (to lose color and strength), each light deserting (to abandon; the barren waste) her with lingering (staying on) regret (sorrow over what is done), like children leaving a pleasant (pleasing) street at dusk (the fading light of evening).

The butler (the chief manservant) came back and murmured (to speak in a low soft flow) something close to Tom’s ear (the organ of hearing), whereupon (upon which) Tom frowned (to draw the brows in displeasure), pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence (being away) quickened (to grow faster) something within her, Daisy leaned (to tilt against; thin) forward again, her voice glowing (a soft warm light) and singing.

“I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind (to bring back to mind) me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn (does — doesn't: does not)’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation (making firm): “An absolute rose?”

This was untrue (not true). I am not even faintly (weakly and dimly) like a rose. She was only extemporizing (making up as she goes), but a stirring (to move; to rouse) warmth (warm heat) flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed (to hide) in one of those breathless (out of breath), thrilling (a shiver of excitement) words. Then suddenly she threw her napkin (a table cloth for the lap) on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance (a quick look) consciously (knowingly) devoid (empty of) of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up alertly (with sharp attention) and said “Sh!” in a warning voice. A subdued (to bring under power) impassioned (filled with passion) murmur (to speak in a low soft flow) was audible (loud enough to hear) in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned (to tilt against; thin) forward unashamed (without shame), trying to hear. The murmur (to speak in a low soft flow) trembled (to shake finely) on the verge (the very edge) of coherence (hanging together; connection), sank (to go down) down, mounted (to climb on; a riding horse) excitedly (with stirred-up feeling), and then ceased (to stop) altogether (wholly).

“This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbour (one living near)—” I began.

“Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.”

“Is something happening?” I inquired (to ask) innocently (in all innocence).

“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. “I thought everybody knew.”

“I don’t.”

“Why—” she said hesitantly (with hesitation). “Tom’s got some woman in New York.”

“Got some woman?” I repeated (to say or do again) blankly (with no expression).

Miss Baker nodded (to bow the head slightly).

“She might have the decency (proper behaviour) not to telephone (the speaking wire) him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”

Almost before I had grasped (to seize; to understand) her meaning there was the flutter (to stir with quick light motion) of a dress and the crunch (to crush with a grinding sound) of leather (cured animal hide) boots (a high shoe), and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

“It couldn (could — couldn't: could not)’t be helped!” cried Daisy with tense (stiff with strain) gaiety (merry brightness).

She sat down, glanced (a quick look) searchingly (with a probing look) at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: “I looked outdoors (outside) for a minute, and it’s very romantic (of love and adventure) outdoors (outside). There’s a bird on the lawn (a stretch of cut grass) that I think must be a nightingale (the sweet-singing night bird) come over on the Cunard or White Star Line (a great shipping line). He’s singing away—” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic (of love and adventure), isn (is — isn't: is not)’t it, Tom?”

“Very romantic (of love and adventure),” he said, and then miserably (wretchedly) to me: “If it’s light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables (the horses' house; firm).”

The telephone (the speaking wire) rang (sounded) inside, startlingly (in a way that surprises), and as Daisy shook (to move quickly to and fro) her head decisively (with firm decision) at Tom the subject of the stables (the horses' house; firm), in fact all subjects, vanished (to disappear) into air. Among the broken fragments (a broken piece) of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles (a wax light) being lit again, pointlessly (with no purpose), and I was conscious (aware) of wanting to look squarely (straight and fully) at everyone, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn (could — couldn't: could not)’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy (tough and enduring) scepticism (doubt), was able utterly (completely) to put this fifth guest’s shrill (high and piercing) metallic (of metal) urgency (pressing haste) out of mind. To a certain temperament (one's natural temper) the situation might have seemed intriguing (plotting in secret)—my own instinct (inborn prompting) was to telephone (the speaking wire) immediately for the police.

The horses, needless (not needed) to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight (the half light of evening) between them, strolled (to walk idly) back into the library, as if to a vigil (a watch kept through the night) beside (at the side of) a perfectly tangible (able to be touched) body, while, trying to look pleasantly (in a pleasant way) interested and a little deaf (unable to hear), I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting (to join) verandas (an open porch) to the porch (a covered entrance) in front. In its deep gloom (heavy darkness of spirit) we sat down side by side on a wicker (woven twigs) settee (a small sofa).

Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually (little by little) out into the velvet (soft rich pile cloth) dusk (the fading light of evening). I saw that turbulent (wildly stirred up) emotions (strong feeling) possessed (to own; to hold) her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative (soothing) questions about her little girl.

“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said suddenly. “Even if we are cousins (an uncle's or aunt's child). You didn (did — didn't: did not)’t come to my wedding.”

“I wasn (was — wasn't: was not)’t back from the war.”

“That’s true.” She hesitated (to pause in doubt). “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, and I’m pretty cynical (believing the worst of people) about everything.”

Evidently (as plainly appears) she had reason to be. I waited but she didn (did — didn't: did not)’t say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly (weakly) to the subject of her daughter.

“I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.”

“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently (with the mind elsewhere). “Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?”

“Very much.”

“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about—things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether (the thin upper air; a spirit fluid) with an utterly (completely) abandoned (to leave behind for good) feeling, and asked the nurse (one who tends the sick; to feed at the breast) right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept (to shed tears). ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool (one without sense)—that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool (one without sense).’

“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow (in any case),” she went on in a convinced (to bring to belief) way. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” Her eyes flashed (a sudden burst of light) around her in a defiant (boldly resisting) way, rather like Tom’s, and she laughed with thrilling (a shiver of excitement) scorn (proud contempt). “Sophisticated (worldly-wise)—God, I’m sophisticated (worldly-wise)!”

The instant (a moment; immediate) her voice broke off, ceasing (to stop) to compel (to force) my attention, my belief (what one holds true), I felt the basic insincerity (falseness of heart) of what she had said. It made me uneasy (uncomfortable and anxious), as though the whole evening had been a trick (a deceiving act) of some sort to exact a contributory (helping to cause) emotion (strong feeling) from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk (a smug silly smile) on her lovely face, as if she had asserted (to state firmly) her membership (being a member) in a rather distinguished (of marked honor) secret society to which she and Tom belonged (to be one's own; to be part of).

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Inside, the crimson (deep red) room bloomed (to flower) with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch (a long seat; to put into words) and she read aloud (out loud) to him from the Saturday Evening Post (a popular American magazine)—the words, murmurous (softly murmuring) and uninflected (uninflected: flat in tone), running together in a soothing (to calm; comfort) tune (a melody). The lamplight (the light of lamps), bright on his boots (a high shoe) and dull (not sharp; not bright) on the autumn-leaf (the yellow of autumn leaves) yellow of her hair, glinted (a quick flash of light) along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter (to stir with quick light motion) of slender (gracefully thin) muscles (the body's moving flesh) in her arms.

When we came in she held us silent (making no sound) for a moment with a lifted hand.

“To be continued,” she said, tossing (to throw lightly) the magazine on the table, “in our very next issue.”

Her body asserted (to state firmly) itself with a restless (unable to rest) movement of her knee (the leg's middle joint), and she stood up.

“Ten o’clock (the time-keeping machine),” she remarked (to say; to notice), apparently finding the time on the ceiling (the room's overhead surface). “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”

“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament tomorrow,” explained Daisy, “over at Westchester.”

“Oh—you’re Jordan Baker (the golf champion, Nick's love interest).”

I knew now why her face was familiar—its pleasing (giving pleasure) contemptuous (full of contempt) expression had looked out at me from many rotogravure (a printing of photographs) pictures of the sporting (of sport) life at Asheville and Hot Springs (a resort town in Arkansas) and Palm Beach (a resort town in Florida). I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant (not pleasing) story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.

“Good night,” she said softly (gently and quietly). “Wake me at eight, won’t you.”

“If you’ll get up.”

“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway (Nick Carraway, the narrator). See you anon (soon — an old word).”

“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll arrange (to set in order) a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of—oh—fling (fled) you together. You know—lock you up accidentally (by chance) in linen (cloth of flax; underclothing) closets (a small side room) and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing—”

“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs (a step of a flight). “I haven (a safe shelter)’t heard a word.”

“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn (oughtn't: ought not)’t to let her run around the country this way.”

“Who oughtn (oughtn't: ought not)’t to?” inquired (to ask) Daisy coldly (without warmth).

“Her family.”

“Her family is one aunt (a parent's sister) about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick’s going to look after her, aren (are — aren't: are not)’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots of weekends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her.”

Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence (absence of sound).

“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly.

“From Louisville (Daisy's home city in Kentucky). Our white girlhood (the years of being a girl) was passed together there. Our beautiful white—”

“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda (an open porch)?” demanded Tom suddenly.

“Did I?” She looked at me. “I can’t seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept (to move low and slowly) up on us and first thing you know—”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised (to counsel) me.

I said lightly (with light touch) that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful (full of cheer) square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily (in a tone allowing no refusal) called: “Wait!

“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”

“That’s right,” corroborated (to confirm as true) Tom kindly (kind; gently). “We heard that you were engaged.”

“It’s a libel (a false printed slander). I’m too poor.”

“But we heard it,” insisted (to press firmly) Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like (like a flower) way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be true.”

Of course I knew what they were referring (to direct to; to relate to) to, but I wasn (was — wasn't: was not)’t even vaguely (dimly; without clear shape) engaged. The fact that gossip (idle talk of others) had published the banns (banns: the public notice of a coming marriage) was one of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old friend on account of rumours (a distant sound; talk going round), and on the other hand I had no intention (what one means to do) of being rumoured (a distant sound; talk going round) into marriage.

Their interest (interest: the spectacle that draws a crowd — the old sense here) rather touched me and made them less remotely (distantly) rich—nevertheless (even so), I was confused (mixed up) and a little disgusted (filled with disgust) as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush (to move with violent haste) out of the house, child in arms—but apparently there were no such intentions (what one means to do) in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman in New York” was really less surprising than that he had been depressed (to press down; sadden) by a book. Something was making him nibble (chewed at in small bites) at the edge of stale (no longer fresh) ideas as if his sturdy (strong and solid) physical egotism (self-centeredness) no longer nourished (to feed and keep alive) his peremptory (allowing no refusal) heart.

Already it was deep summer on roadhouse (an inn on a country road) roofs and in front of wayside (at the side of the road) garages (a building where cars are kept or repaired), where new red petrol-pumps (pumps for petrol) sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed (a rough shelter; to let fall) and sat for a while on an abandoned (to leave behind for good) grass (the green ground plant) roller (the turning rod string winds on) in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent (stubbornly keeping on) organ (a body part; the great church instrument) sound as the full bellows (bellows: the air-pump; a deep roar) of the earth blew the frogs (the leaping pond creature) full of life. The silhouette (a dark outline) of a moving cat wavered (to sway in doubt) across the moonlight (the light of the moon), and, turning my head to watch it, I saw that I was not alone—fifty (fifty) feet away a figure had emerged (to come out) from the shadow (the dark cast shape) of my neighbour (one living near)’s mansion (a great house) and was standing with his hands in his pockets (the sewn-in pouch) regarding the silver pepper (the hot spice) of the stars. Something in his leisurely (without hurry) movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn (a stretch of cut grass) suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.

I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn (did — didn't: did not)’t call to him, for he gave a sudden (without warning) intimation (a first faint sign) that he was content to be alone—he stretched (to draw out) out his arms toward the dark water in a curious (eager to know; strange) way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling (to shake finely). Involuntarily (without willing it) I glanced (a quick look) seaward (toward the sea)—and distinguished (of marked honor) nothing except a single green light (the small light at the end of Daisy's dock that Gatsby reaches toward), minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock (a landing place for boats). When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished (to disappear), and I was alone again in the unquiet (restless) darkness (absence of light).