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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 92/165
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"
Well
,
I
was
.
"
Tom
laughed
and
turned
to
me
.
"
Did
you
notice
Daisy
's
face
when
that
girl
asked
her
to
put
her
under
a
cold
shower
?
"
Daisy
began
to
sing
with
the
music
in
a
husky
,
rhythmic
whisper
,
bringing
out
a
meaning
in
each
word
that
it
had
never
had
before
and
would
never
have
again
.
When
the
melody
rose
,
her
voice
broke
up
sweetly
,
following
it
,
in
a
way
contralto
voices
have
,
and
each
change
tipped
out
a
little
of
her
warm
human
magic
upon
the
air
.
"
Lots
of
people
come
who
have
n't
been
invited
,
"
she
said
suddenly
.
"
That
girl
had
n't
been
invited
.
They
simply
force
their
way
in
and
he
's
too
polite
to
object
.
"
"
I
'd
like
to
know
who
he
is
and
what
he
does
,
"
insisted
Tom
.
"
And
I
think
I
'll
make
a
point
of
finding
out
.
"
"
I
can
tell
you
right
now
,
"
she
answered
.
"
He
owned
some
drug-stores
,
a
lot
of
drug-stores
.
He
built
them
up
himself
.
"
The
dilatory
limousine
came
rolling
up
the
drive
.
"
Good
night
,
Nick
,
"
said
Daisy
.
Her
glance
left
me
and
sought
the
lighted
top
of
the
steps
,
where
Three
O'clock
in
the
Morning
,
a
neat
,
sad
little
waltz
of
that
year
,
was
drifting
out
the
open
door
.
After
all
,
in
the
very
casualness
of
Gatsby
's
party
there
were
romantic
possibilities
totally
absent
from
her
world
.
What
was
it
up
there
in
the
song
that
seemed
to
be
calling
her
back
inside
?
What
would
happen
now
in
the
dim
,
incalculable
hours
?
Perhaps
some
unbelievable
guest
would
arrive
,
a
person
infinitely
rare
and
to
be
marvelled
at
,
some
authentically
radiant
young
girl
who
with
one
fresh
glance
at
Gatsby
,
one
moment
of
magical
encounter
,
would
blot
out
those
five
years
of
unwavering
devotion
.
