-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
-
- Великий Гэтсби
-
- Стр. 3/165
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Why
they
came
East
I
do
n't
know
.
They
had
spent
a
year
in
France
for
no
particular
reason
,
and
then
drifted
here
and
there
unrestfully
wherever
people
played
polo
and
were
rich
together
.
This
was
a
permanent
move
,
said
Daisy
over
the
telephone
,
but
I
did
n't
believe
it
--
I
had
no
sight
into
Daisy
's
heart
,
but
I
felt
that
Tom
would
drift
on
forever
seeking
,
a
little
wistfully
,
for
the
dramatic
turbulence
of
some
irrecoverable
football
game
.
And
so
it
happened
that
on
a
warm
windy
evening
I
drove
over
to
East
Egg
to
see
two
old
friends
whom
I
scarcely
knew
at
all
.
Their
house
was
even
more
elaborate
than
I
expected
,
a
cheerful
red-and-white
Georgian
Colonial
mansion
,
overlooking
the
bay
.
The
lawn
started
at
the
beach
and
ran
toward
the
front
door
for
a
quarter
of
a
mile
,
jumping
over
sun-dials
and
brick
walks
and
burning
gardens
--
finally
when
it
reached
the
house
drifting
up
the
side
in
bright
vines
as
though
from
the
momentum
of
its
run
.
The
front
was
broken
by
a
line
of
French
windows
,
glowing
now
with
reflected
gold
and
wide
open
to
the
warm
windy
afternoon
,
and
Tom
Buchanan
in
riding
clothes
was
standing
with
his
legs
apart
on
the
front
porch
.
He
had
changed
since
his
New
Haven
years
.
Now
he
was
a
sturdy
straw-haired
man
of
thirty
with
a
rather
hard
mouth
and
a
supercilious
manner
.
Two
shining
arrogant
eyes
had
established
dominance
over
his
face
and
gave
him
the
appearance
of
always
leaning
aggressively
forward
.
Not
even
the
effeminate
swank
of
his
riding
clothes
could
hide
the
enormous
power
of
that
body
--
he
seemed
to
fill
those
glistening
boots
until
he
strained
the
top
lacing
,
and
you
could
see
a
great
pack
of
muscle
shifting
when
his
shoulder
moved
under
his
thin
coat
.
It
was
a
body
capable
of
enormous
leverage
--
a
cruel
body
.
His
speaking
voice
,
a
gruff
husky
tenor
,
added
to
the
impression
of
fractiousness
he
conveyed
.
There
was
a
touch
of
paternal
contempt
in
it
,
even
toward
people
he
liked
--
and
there
were
men
at
New
Haven
who
had
hated
his
guts
.
"
Now
,
do
n't
think
my
opinion
on
these
matters
is
final
,
"
he
seemed
to
say
,
"
just
because
I
'm
stronger
and
more
of
a
man
than
you
are
.
"
We
were
in
the
same
senior
society
,
and
while
we
were
never
intimate
I
always
had
the
impression
that
he
approved
of
me
and
wanted
me
to
like
him
with
some
harsh
,
defiant
wistfulness
of
his
own
.
We
talked
for
a
few
minutes
on
the
sunny
porch
.
"
I
've
got
a
nice
place
here
,
"
he
said
,
his
eyes
flashing
about
restlessly
.
Turning
me
around
by
one
arm
,
he
moved
a
broad
flat
hand
along
the
front
vista
,
including
in
its
sweep
a
sunken
Italian
garden
,
a
half
acre
of
deep
,
pungent
roses
,
and
a
snub-nosed
motor-boat
that
bumped
the
tide
offshore
.
"
It
belonged
to
Demaine
,
the
oil
man
.
"
He
turned
me
around
again
,
politely
and
abruptly
.
"
We
'll
go
inside
.
"
