day Gatsby called me on the phone.
"Going away?" I inquired.
"No, old sport."
"I hear you fired all your rvants."
"I wanted somebody who wouldn''t gossip. Daisy es over quite often—in the afternoons."
So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card hou at the disapproval in her eyes.
"They''re some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They''re all brothers and sisters. They ud to run a small hotel."
"I e."
He was calling up at Daisy''s request—would I e to lunbsp;at her hou tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herlf telephoned and emed relieved to find that I was ing. Something was up. And yet I couldn''t believe that they would choo this occasion for a se—especially for the rather harrowing se that Gatsby had outlined in the garden.
The day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit pany broke the simmering hush at noon. The straw ats of the bsp;hovered on the edge of bustion; the woman to me perspired delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her neer dampened under her fingers, lapd despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her pocket-book slapped to the floor.
day Gatsby called me on the phone.
"Going away?" I inquired.
"No, old sport."
"I hear you fired all your rvants."
"I wanted somebody who wouldn''t gossip. Daisy es over quite often—in the afternoons."
So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card hou at the disapproval in her eyes.
"They''re some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They''re all brothers and sisters. They ud to run a small hotel."
"I e."
He was calling up at Daisy''s request—would I e to lunbsp;at her hou tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herlf telephoned and emed relieved to find that I was ing. Something was up. And yet I couldn''t believe that they would choo this occasion for a se—especially for the rather harrowing se that Gatsby had outlined in the garden.
The day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit pany broke the simmering hush at noon. The straw ats of the bsp;hovered on the edge of bustion; the woman to me perspired delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her neer dampened under her fingers, lapd despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her pocket-book slapped to the floor.