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As though they cared!

‘Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.’ He walked around the room quickly, ringing bells. ‘I’ll have something to drink for you in just a minute.’

He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Sloane wanted nothing. A lemonade?

No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks….

I’m sorry——

‘Did you have a nice ride?’

‘Very good roads around here.’

‘I suppose the automobiles——‘

‘Yeah.’

Moved by an irresistible impulse, Gatsby turned to Tom who had accepted the introduction as a stranger.

‘I believe we’ve met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Tom, gruffly polite but obviously not remembering. ‘So we did. I remember very well.’

‘About two weeks ago.’

‘That’s right. You were with Nick here.’

‘I know your wife,’ continued Gatsby, almost aggressively. ‘That so?’

Tom turned to me.

‘You live near here, Nick?’

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‘Next door.’

‘That so?’

Mr. Sloane didn’t enter into the conversation but lounged back haughtily in his chair; the woman said nothing either—until unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial.

‘We’ll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby,’ she suggested. ‘What do you say?’

‘Certainly. I’d be delighted to have you.’

‘Be ver’ nice,’ said Mr. Sloane, without gratitude. ‘Well—

think ought to be starting home.’

‘Please don’t hurry,’ Gatsby urged them. He had control of himself now and he wanted to see more of Tom. ‘Why don’t you—why don’t you stay for supper? I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people dropped in from New York.’

‘You come to supper with ME,’ said the lady enthusiastically. ‘Both of you.’

This included me. Mr. Sloane got to his feet.

‘Come along,’ he said—but to her only.

‘I mean it,’ she insisted. ‘I’d love to have you. Lots of room.’

Gatsby looked at me questioningly. He wanted to go and he didn’t see that Mr. Sloane had determined he shouldn’t.

‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to,’ I said.

‘Well, you come,’ she urged, concentrating on Gatsby.

Mr. Sloane murmured something close to her ear.

‘We won’t be late if we start now,’ she insisted aloud.

‘I haven’t got a horse,’ said Gatsby. ‘I used to ride in the army but I’ve never bought a horse. I’ll have to follow you in 110

The Great Gatsby

my car. Excuse me for just a minute.’

The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Sloane and the lady began an impassioned conversation aside.

Are sens

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