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210
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 7, Página 53
"Beat
me!"
he
heard
her
cry.
"Throw
me
down
and
beat
me,
you
coward!"
A
moment
later,
she
rushed
out
into
the
dusk,
waving
her
hands
and
shouting—before
he
could
move
from
his
door,
it
was
over.
The
"death
car,"
as
the
newspapers
called
it,
didn’t
stop;
it
came
out
of
the
darkness,
wavered
for
a
moment,
and
then
disappeared
around
the
next
bend.
Michaelis
wasn’t
even
sure
of
its
color—he
told
the
first
policeman
it
was
light
green.
The
other
car,
the
one
going
toward
New
York,
stopped
a
hundred
yards
beyond,
and
its
driver
hurried
back
to
where
Myrtle
Wilson,
her
life
violently
ended,
knelt
in
the
road,
her
thick
dark
blood
mixing
with
the
dust.
Michaelis
and
this
man
reached
her
first,
but
when
they
opened
her
shirt,
still
damp
with
sweat,
they
saw
her
left
breast
was
loose
like
a
flap,
and
there
was
no
need
to
listen
for
the
heart
beneath.
Her
mouth
was
wide
open
and
torn
a
little
at
the
corners,
as
though
she
had
choked
a
little
in
giving
up
the
tremendous
vitality
she
had
stored
so
long.
We
saw
the
three
or
four
cars
and
the
crowd
when
we
were
still
some
distance
away.
"Wreck!"
said
Tom.
"That’s
good.
Wilson
will
finally
have
some
business."
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El Gran Gatsby — B1 Inglés | Cuentana