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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 164/165
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I
could
n't
forgive
him
or
like
him
,
but
I
saw
that
what
he
had
done
was
,
to
him
,
entirely
justified
.
It
was
all
very
careless
and
confused
.
They
were
careless
people
,
Tom
and
Daisy
--
they
smashed
up
things
and
creatures
and
then
retreated
back
into
their
money
or
their
vast
carelessness
,
or
whatever
it
was
that
kept
them
together
,
and
let
other
people
clean
up
the
mess
they
had
made
...
.
I
shook
hands
with
him
;
it
seemed
silly
not
to
,
for
I
felt
suddenly
as
though
I
were
talking
to
a
child
.
Then
he
went
into
the
jewelry
store
to
buy
a
pearl
necklace
--
or
perhaps
only
a
pair
of
cuff
buttons
--
rid
of
my
provincial
squeamishness
forever
.
Gatsby
's
house
was
still
empty
when
I
left
--
the
grass
on
his
lawn
had
grown
as
long
as
mine
.
One
of
the
taxi
drivers
in
the
village
never
took
a
fare
past
the
entrance
gate
without
stopping
for
a
minute
and
pointing
inside
;
perhaps
it
was
he
who
drove
Daisy
and
Gatsby
over
to
East
Egg
the
night
of
the
accident
,
and
perhaps
he
had
made
a
story
about
it
all
his
own
.
I
did
n't
want
to
hear
it
and
I
avoided
him
when
I
got
off
the
train
.
I
spent
my
Saturday
nights
in
New
York
because
those
gleaming
,
dazzling
parties
of
his
were
with
me
so
vividly
that
I
could
still
hear
the
music
and
the
laughter
,
faint
and
incessant
,
from
his
garden
,
and
the
cars
going
up
and
down
his
drive
.
One
night
I
did
hear
a
material
car
there
,
and
saw
its
lights
stop
at
his
front
steps
.
But
I
did
n't
investigate
.
Probably
it
was
some
final
guest
who
had
been
away
at
the
ends
of
the
earth
and
did
n't
know
that
the
party
was
over
.
On
the
last
night
,
with
my
trunk
packed
and
my
car
sold
to
the
grocer
,
I
went
over
and
looked
at
that
huge
incoherent
failure
of
a
house
once
more
.
On
the
white
steps
an
obscene
word
,
scrawled
by
some
boy
with
a
piece
of
brick
,
stood
out
clearly
in
the
moonlight
,
and
I
erased
it
,
drawing
my
shoe
raspingly
along
the
stone
.
Then
I
wandered
down
to
the
beach
and
sprawled
out
on
the
sand
.
Most
of
the
big
shore
places
were
closed
now
and
there
were
hardly
any
lights
except
the
shadowy
,
moving
glow
of
a
ferryboat
across
the
Sound
.
And
as
the
moon
rose
higher
the
inessential
houses
began
to
melt
away
until
gradually
I
became
aware
of
the
old
island
here
that
flowered
once
for
Dutch
sailors
'
eyes
--
a
fresh
,
green
breast
of
the
new
world
.
Its
vanished
trees
,
the
trees
that
had
made
way
for
Gatsby
's
house
,
had
once
pandered
in
whispers
to
the
last
and
greatest
of
all
human
dreams
;
for
a
transitory
enchanted
moment
man
must
have
held
his
breath
in
the
presence
of
this
continent
,
compelled
into
an
aesthetic
contemplation
he
neither
understood
nor
desired
,
face
to
face
for
the
last
time
in
history
with
something
commensurate
to
his
capacity
for
wonder
.
And
as
I
sat
there
brooding
on
the
old
,
unknown
world
,
I
thought
of
Gatsby
's
wonder
when
he
first
picked
out
the
green
light
at
the
end
of
Daisy
's
dock
.
He
had
come
a
long
way
to
this
blue
lawn
,
and
his
dream
must
have
seemed
so
close
that
he
could
hardly
fail
to
grasp
it
.
He
did
not
know
that
it
was
already
behind
him
,
somewhere
back
in
that
vast
obscurity
beyond
the
city
,
where
the
dark
fields
of
the
republic
rolled
on
under
the
night
.
Gatsby
believed
in
the
green
light
,
the
orgastic
future
that
year
by
year
recedes
before
us
.
It
eluded
us
then
,
but
that
's
no
matter
--
to-morrow
we
will
run
faster
,
stretch
out
our
arms
farther
...
.
And
one
fine
morning
--
--
