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"
It
was
on
the
two
little
seats
facing
each
other
that
are
always
the
last
ones
left
on
the
train
.
I
was
going
up
to
New
York
to
see
my
sister
and
spend
the
night
.
He
had
on
a
dress
suit
and
patent
leather
shoes
,
and
I
could
n't
keep
my
eyes
off
him
,
but
every
time
he
looked
at
me
I
had
to
pretend
to
be
looking
at
the
advertisement
over
his
head
.
When
we
came
into
the
station
he
was
next
to
me
,
and
his
white
shirt-front
pressed
against
my
arm
,
and
so
I
told
him
I
'd
have
to
call
a
policeman
,
but
he
knew
I
lied
.
I
was
so
excited
that
when
I
got
into
a
taxi
with
him
I
did
n't
hardly
know
I
was
n't
getting
into
a
subway
train
.
All
I
kept
thinking
about
,
over
and
over
,
was
'
You
ca
n't
live
forever
;
you
ca
n't
live
forever
.
'
"
She
turned
to
Mrs.
McKee
and
the
room
rang
full
of
her
artificial
laughter
.
"
My
dear
,
"
she
cried
,
"
I
'm
going
to
give
you
this
dress
as
soon
as
I
'm
through
with
it
.
I
've
got
to
get
another
one
to-morrow
.
I
'm
going
to
make
a
list
of
all
the
things
I
've
got
to
get
.
A
massage
and
a
wave
,
and
a
collar
for
the
dog
,
and
one
of
those
cute
little
ash-trays
where
you
touch
a
spring
,
and
a
wreath
with
a
black
silk
bow
for
mother
's
grave
that
'll
last
all
summer
.
I
got
to
write
down
a
list
so
I
wo
n't
forget
all
the
things
I
got
to
do
.
"
It
was
nine
o'clock
--
almost
immediately
afterward
I
looked
at
my
watch
and
found
it
was
ten
.
Mr.
McKee
was
asleep
on
a
chair
with
his
fists
clenched
in
his
lap
,
like
a
photograph
of
a
man
of
action
.
Taking
out
my
handkerchief
I
wiped
from
his
cheek
the
remains
of
the
spot
of
dried
lather
that
had
worried
me
all
the
afternoon
.
The
little
dog
was
sitting
on
the
table
looking
with
blind
eyes
through
the
smoke
,
and
from
time
to
time
groaning
faintly
.
People
disappeared
,
reappeared
,
made
plans
to
go
somewhere
,
and
then
lost
each
other
,
searched
for
each
other
,
found
each
other
a
few
feet
away
.
Some
time
toward
midnight
Tom
Buchanan
and
Mrs.
Wilson
stood
face
to
face
discussing
,
in
impassioned
voices
,
whether
Mrs.
Wilson
had
any
right
to
mention
Daisy
's
name
.
"
Daisy
!
Daisy
!
Daisy
!
"
shouted
Mrs.
Wilson
.
"
I
'll
say
it
whenever
I
want
to
!
Daisy
!
Dai
--
--
"
Making
a
short
deft
movement
,
Tom
Buchanan
broke
her
nose
with
his
open
hand
.
Then
there
were
bloody
towels
upon
the
bath-room
floor
,
and
women
's
voices
scolding
,
and
high
over
the
confusion
a
long
broken
wail
of
pain
.
Mr.
McKee
awoke
from
his
doze
and
started
in
a
daze
toward
the
door
.
When
he
had
gone
half
way
he
turned
around
and
stared
at
the
scene
--
his
wife
and
Catherine
scolding
and
consoling
as
they
stumbled
here
and
there
among
the
crowded
furniture
with
articles
of
aid
,
and
the
despairing
figure
on
the
couch
,
bleeding
fluently
,
and
trying
to
spread
a
copy
of
Town
Tattle
over
the
tapestry
scenes
of
Versailles
.
Then
Mr.
McKee
turned
and
continued
on
out
the
door
.
Taking
my
hat
from
the
chandelier
,
I
followed
.
