-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
-
- Великий Гэтсби
-
- Стр. 143/165
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
We
talked
like
that
for
a
while
,
and
then
abruptly
we
were
n't
talking
any
longer
.
I
do
n't
know
which
of
us
hung
up
with
a
sharp
click
,
but
I
know
I
did
n't
care
.
I
could
n't
have
talked
to
her
across
a
tea-table
that
day
if
I
never
talked
to
her
again
in
this
world
.
I
called
Gatsby
's
house
a
few
minutes
later
,
but
the
line
was
busy
.
I
tried
four
times
;
finally
an
exasperated
central
told
me
the
wire
was
being
kept
open
for
long
distance
from
Detroit
.
Taking
out
my
time-table
,
I
drew
a
small
circle
around
the
three-fifty
train
.
Then
I
leaned
back
in
my
chair
and
tried
to
think
.
It
was
just
noon
.
When
I
passed
the
ashheaps
on
the
train
that
morning
I
had
crossed
deliberately
to
the
other
side
of
the
car
.
I
suppose
there
'd
be
a
curious
crowd
around
there
all
day
with
little
boys
searching
for
dark
spots
in
the
dust
,
and
some
garrulous
man
telling
over
and
over
what
had
happened
,
until
it
became
less
and
less
real
even
to
him
and
he
could
tell
it
no
longer
,
and
Myrtle
Wilson
's
tragic
achievement
was
forgotten
.
Now
I
want
to
go
back
a
little
and
tell
what
happened
at
the
garage
after
we
left
there
the
night
before
.
They
had
difficulty
in
locating
the
sister
,
Catherine
.
She
must
have
broken
her
rule
against
drinking
that
night
,
for
when
she
arrived
she
was
stupid
with
liquor
and
unable
to
understand
that
the
ambulance
had
already
gone
to
Flushing
.
When
they
convinced
her
of
this
,
she
immediately
fainted
,
as
if
that
was
the
intolerable
part
of
the
affair
.
Some
one
,
kind
or
curious
,
took
her
in
his
car
and
drove
her
in
the
wake
of
her
sister
's
body
.
Until
long
after
midnight
a
changing
crowd
lapped
up
against
the
front
of
the
garage
,
while
George
Wilson
rocked
himself
back
and
forth
on
the
couch
inside
.
For
a
while
the
door
of
the
office
was
open
,
and
every
one
who
came
into
the
garage
glanced
irresistibly
through
it
.
Finally
someone
said
it
was
a
shame
,
and
closed
the
door
.
Michaelis
and
several
other
men
were
with
him
;
first
,
four
or
five
men
,
later
two
or
three
men
.
Still
later
Michaelis
had
to
ask
the
last
stranger
to
wait
there
fifteen
minutes
longer
,
while
he
went
back
to
his
own
place
and
made
a
pot
of
coffee
.
After
that
,
he
stayed
there
alone
with
Wilson
until
dawn
.
About
three
o'clock
the
quality
of
Wilson
's
incoherent
muttering
changed
--
he
grew
quieter
and
began
to
talk
about
the
yellow
car
.
He
announced
that
he
had
a
way
of
finding
out
whom
the
yellow
car
belonged
to
,
and
then
he
blurted
out
that
a
couple
of
months
ago
his
wife
had
come
from
the
city
with
her
face
bruised
and
her
nose
swollen
.
But
when
he
heard
himself
say
this
,
he
flinched
and
began
to
cry
"
Oh
,
my
God
!
"
again
in
his
groaning
voice
.
Michaelis
made
a
clumsy
attempt
to
distract
him
.
"
How
long
have
you
been
married
,
George
?
Come
on
there
,
try
and
sit
still
a
minute
and
answer
my
question
.
How
long
have
you
been
married
?
"
"
Twelve
years
.
"
