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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 126/165
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A
moment
later
she
rushed
out
into
the
dusk
,
waving
her
hands
and
shouting
--
before
he
could
move
from
his
door
the
business
was
over
.
The
"
death
car
,
"
as
the
newspapers
called
it
,
did
n't
stop
;
it
came
out
of
the
gathering
darkness
,
wavered
tragically
for
a
moment
,
and
then
disappeared
around
the
next
bend
.
Michaelis
was
n't
even
sure
of
its
color
--
he
told
the
first
policeman
that
it
was
light
green
.
The
other
car
,
the
one
going
toward
New
York
,
came
to
rest
a
hundred
yards
beyond
,
and
its
driver
hurried
back
to
where
Myrtle
Wilson
,
her
life
violently
extinguished
,
knelt
in
the
road
and
mingled
her
thick
dark
blood
with
the
dust
.
Michaelis
and
this
man
reached
her
first
,
but
when
they
had
torn
open
her
shirtwaist
,
still
damp
with
perspiration
,
they
saw
that
her
left
breast
was
swinging
loose
like
a
flap
,
and
there
was
no
need
to
listen
for
the
heart
beneath
.
The
mouth
was
wide
open
and
ripped
at
the
corners
,
as
though
she
had
choked
a
little
in
giving
up
the
tremendous
vitality
she
had
stored
so
long
.
We
saw
the
three
or
four
automobiles
and
the
crowd
when
we
were
still
some
distance
away
.
"
Wreck
!
"
said
Tom
.
"
That
's
good
.
Wilson
'll
have
a
little
business
at
last
.
"
He
slowed
down
,
but
still
without
any
intention
of
stopping
,
until
,
as
we
came
nearer
,
the
hushed
,
intent
faces
of
the
people
at
the
garage
door
made
him
automatically
put
on
the
brakes
.
"
We
'll
take
a
look
,
"
he
said
doubtfully
,
"
just
a
look
.
"
I
became
aware
now
of
a
hollow
,
wailing
sound
which
issued
incessantly
from
the
garage
,
a
sound
which
as
we
got
out
of
the
coupe
and
walked
toward
the
door
resolved
itself
into
the
words
"
Oh
,
my
God
!
"
uttered
over
and
over
in
a
gasping
moan
.
"
There
's
some
bad
trouble
here
,
"
said
Tom
excitedly
.
