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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 129/165
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A
pale
well-dressed
negro
stepped
near
.
"
It
was
a
yellow
car
,
"
he
said
,
"
big
yellow
car
.
New
.
"
"
See
the
accident
?
"
asked
the
policeman
.
"
No
,
but
the
car
passed
me
down
the
road
,
going
faster
'n
forty
.
Going
fifty
,
sixty
.
"
"
Come
here
and
let
's
have
your
name
.
Look
out
now
.
I
want
to
get
his
name
.
"
Some
words
of
this
conversation
must
have
reached
Wilson
,
swaying
in
the
office
door
,
for
suddenly
a
new
theme
found
voice
among
his
gasping
cries
:
"
You
do
n't
have
to
tell
me
what
kind
of
car
it
was
!
I
know
what
kind
of
car
it
was
!
"
Watching
Tom
,
I
saw
the
wad
of
muscle
back
of
his
shoulder
tighten
under
his
coat
.
He
walked
quickly
over
to
Wilson
and
,
standing
in
front
of
him
,
seized
him
firmly
by
the
upper
arms
.
"
You
've
got
to
pull
yourself
together
,
"
he
said
with
soothing
gruffness
.
Wilson
's
eyes
fell
upon
Tom
;
he
started
up
on
his
tiptoes
and
then
would
have
collapsed
to
his
knees
had
not
Tom
held
him
upright
.
