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87
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 4, Página 9
He
didn't
say
another
word.
He
became
more
formal
as
we
got
closer
to
the
city.
We
passed
Port
Roosevelt,
where
we
saw
red-belted
ocean
ships,
and
drove
through
a
cobbled
slum
with
old
saloons
from
the
early
1900s.
Then
the
valley
of
ashes
opened
up
on
both
sides,
and
I
caught
a
glimpse
of
Mrs.
Wilson
working
hard
at
the
garage
pump
as
we
went
by.
With
fenders
spread
like
wings,
we
lit
up
half
of
Astoria—only
half,
because
as
we
twisted
among
the
elevated
pillars,
I
heard
the
familiar
"jug-jug-spat!"
of
a
motorcycle,
and
a
frantic
policeman
rode
up
beside
us.
"All
right,
old
sport,"
called
Gatsby.
We
slowed
down.
He
took
a
white
card
from
his
wallet
and
showed
it
to
the
policeman.
"Right
you
are,"
agreed
the
policeman,
tipping
his
cap.
"I'll
recognize
you
next
time,
Mr.
Gatsby.
Excuse
me!"
"What
was
that?"
I
asked.
"A
picture
from
Oxford?"
"I
did
the
commissioner
a
favor
once,
and
he
sends
me
a
Christmas
card
every
year."
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El Gran Gatsby — B1 Inglés | Cuentana