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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 34/165
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"
I
do
n't
think
it
's
so
much
that
,
"
argued
Lucille
sceptically
;
"
it
's
more
that
he
was
a
German
spy
during
the
war
.
"
One
of
the
men
nodded
in
confirmation
.
"
I
heard
that
from
a
man
who
knew
all
about
him
,
grew
up
with
him
in
Germany
,
"
he
assured
us
positively
.
"
Oh
,
no
,
"
said
the
first
girl
,
"
it
could
n't
be
that
,
because
he
was
in
the
American
army
during
the
war
.
"
As
our
credulity
switched
back
to
her
she
leaned
forward
with
enthusiasm
.
"
You
look
at
him
sometimes
when
he
thinks
nobody
's
looking
at
him
.
I
'll
bet
he
killed
a
man
.
"
She
narrowed
her
eyes
and
shivered
.
Lucille
shivered
.
We
all
turned
and
looked
around
for
Gatsby
.
It
was
testimony
to
the
romantic
speculation
he
inspired
that
there
were
whispers
about
him
from
those
who
found
little
that
it
was
necessary
to
whisper
about
in
this
world
.
The
first
supper
--
there
would
be
another
one
after
midnight
--
was
now
being
served
,
and
Jordan
invited
me
to
join
her
own
party
,
who
were
spread
around
a
table
on
the
other
side
of
the
garden
.
There
were
three
married
couples
and
Jordan
's
escort
,
a
persistent
undergraduate
given
to
violent
innuendo
,
and
obviously
under
the
impression
that
sooner
or
later
Jordan
was
going
to
yield
him
up
her
person
to
a
greater
or
lesser
degree
.
Instead
of
rambling
,
this
party
had
preserved
a
dignified
homogeneity
,
and
assumed
to
itself
the
function
of
representing
the
staid
nobility
of
the
country-side
--
East
Egg
condescending
to
West
Egg
,
and
carefully
on
guard
against
its
spectroscopic
gayety
.
"
Let
's
get
out
,
"
whispered
Jordan
,
after
a
somehow
wasteful
and
inappropriate
half-hour
.
"
This
is
much
too
polite
for
me
.
"
We
got
up
,
and
she
explained
that
we
were
going
to
find
the
host
:
I
had
never
met
him
,
she
said
,
and
it
was
making
me
uneasy
.
The
undergraduate
nodded
in
a
cynical
,
melancholy
way
.
The
bar
,
where
we
glanced
first
,
was
crowded
,
but
Gatsby
was
not
there
.
She
could
n't
find
him
from
the
top
of
the
steps
,
and
he
was
n't
on
the
veranda
.
On
a
chance
we
tried
an
important-looking
door
,
and
walked
into
a
high
Gothic
library
,
panelled
with
carved
English
oak
,
and
probably
transported
complete
from
some
ruin
overseas
.
A
stout
,
middle-aged
man
,
with
enormous
owl-eyed
spectacles
,
was
sitting
somewhat
drunk
on
the
edge
of
a
great
table
,
staring
with
unsteady
concentration
at
the
shelves
of
books
.
As
we
entered
he
wheeled
excitedly
around
and
examined
Jordan
from
head
to
foot
.
"
What
do
you
think
?
"
he
demanded
impetuously
.
