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76
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 27
I
began
to
enjoy
New
York,
the
exciting,
adventurous
feeling
of
it
at
night,
and
the
satisfaction
the
constant
movement
of
people
and
machines
gave
to
my
restless
eyes.
I
liked
walking
up
Fifth
Avenue,
picking
out
interesting
women
from
the
crowd,
and
imagining
that
in
a
few
minutes,
I
would
enter
their
lives,
and
no
one
would
know
or
disapprove.
Sometimes,
in
my
mind,
I
followed
them
to
their
apartments
on
hidden
streets,
and
they
turned
and
smiled
at
me
before
disappearing
into
warm
darkness.
In
the
magical
city
twilight,
I
sometimes
felt
a
haunting
loneliness
and
saw
it
in
others—young
clerks
who
waited
in
front
of
windows
until
it
was
time
for
a
lonely
dinner—young
clerks
wasting
the
most
touching
moments
of
night
and
life.
Again
at
eight
o’clock,
when
the
dark
streets
of
the
Forties
were
crowded
with
waiting
taxis
heading
to
the
theater
district,
I
felt
a
sinking
feeling.
People
leaned
together
in
the
taxis,
voices
sang,
laughter
came
from
unheard
jokes,
and
lighted
cigarettes
made
circles
inside.
Imagining
I
was
also
heading
towards
fun
and
sharing
their
excitement,
I
wished
them
well.
For
a
while,
I
lost
contact
with
Jordan
Baker,
but
then
in
midsummer,
I
saw
her
again.
At
first,
I
felt
flattered
to
go
places
with
her
because
she
was
a
famous
golf
champion,
and
everyone
knew
her
name.
Then
it
became
something
more.
I
wasn’t
really
in
love,
but
I
felt
a
kind
of
tender
curiosity.
Her
bored,
proud
face
hid
something—most
pretenses
hide
something
eventually,
even
if
they
don’t
at
first—and
one
day,
I
found
out
what
it
was.
When
we
were
at
a
house
party
in
Warwick,
she
left
a
borrowed
car
out
in
the
rain
with
the
top
down
and
then
lied
about
it—and
suddenly
I
remembered
the
story
about
her
that
I
couldn’t
recall
that
night
at
Daisy’s.
At
her
first
big
golf
tournament,
there
was
a
fuss
that
almost
reached
the
newspapers—a
suggestion
that
she
moved
her
ball
from
a
bad
spot
in
the
semifinal
round.
It
almost
became
a
scandal—then
it
faded
away.
A
caddy
took
back
his
statement,
and
the
only
other
witness
said
he
might
have
been
mistaken.
The
incident
and
her
name
stayed
together
in
my
mind.
Jordan
Baker
instinctively
avoided
clever,
sharp
men,
and
now
I
saw
it
was
because
she
felt
safer
where
any
rule-breaking
would
seem
impossible.
She
was
incurably
dishonest.
She
couldn’t
stand
being
at
a
disadvantage,
and
because
of
this
unwillingness,
I
suppose
she
started
using
tricks
when
she
was
very
young
to
keep
that
cool,
bold
smile
for
the
world
and
still
satisfy
her
strong,
lively
body’s
demands.
It
didn’t
matter
to
me.
Dishonesty
in
a
woman
is
something
you
never
blame
deeply—I
was
casually
sorry,
and
then
I
forgot.
It
was
at
the
same
house
party
that
we
had
an
unusual
conversation
about
driving.
It
started
because
she
drove
so
close
to
some
workmen
that
our
car’s
fender
hit
a
button
on
one
man’s
coat.
"You’re
a
terrible
driver,"
I
said.
"Either
you
need
to
be
more
careful,
or
you
shouldn’t
drive
at
all."
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El Gran Gatsby — B1 Inglés | Cuentana