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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 8, Página 19
Gatsby
carried
the
mattress
to
the
pool.
Once,
he
stopped
and
adjusted
it,
and
the
chauffeur
asked
if
he
needed
help,
but
Gatsby
shook
his
head
and
soon
disappeared
among
the
yellowing
trees.
No
phone
message
came,
but
the
butler
stayed
awake,
waiting
for
it
until
four
o'clock.
By
then,
there
was
no
one
to
give
it
to
even
if
it
arrived.
I
think
Gatsby
himself
didn't
believe
it
would
come,
and
maybe
he
didn't
care
anymore.
If
that
was
true,
he
must
have
felt
he
lost
the
warm
world
he
knew,
paying
a
high
price
for
chasing
a
single
dream
for
too
long.
He
might
have
looked
at
the
unfamiliar
sky
through
the
scary
leaves
and
shivered,
realizing
how
strange
a
rose
is
and
how
harsh
the
sunlight
felt
on
the
barely
grown
grass.
It
was
a
new
world,
material
but
not
real,
where
poor
ghosts,
breathing
dreams
like
air,
drifted
by
chance...
like
that
gray,
fantastic
figure
moving
toward
him
through
the
shapeless
trees.
The
chauffeur,
who
was
one
of
Wolfshiem’s
protégés,
heard
the
shots.
Later,
he
said
he
hadn't
thought
much
about
them.
I
drove
from
the
station
straight
to
Gatsby’s
house,
and
my
anxious
rush
up
the
front
steps
was
the
first
thing
that
alarmed
anyone.
But
then
they
knew,
I
truly
believe.
Without
saying
much,
four
of
us—the
chauffeur,
the
butler,
the
gardener,
and
I—hurried
down
to
the
pool.
There
was
a
faint
movement
in
the
water
as
fresh
flow
from
one
end
pushed
toward
the
drain
at
the
other.
With
tiny
ripples
that
were
hardly
the
shadows
of
waves,
the
loaded
mattress
moved
unevenly
down
the
pool.
A
small
gust
of
wind,
barely
disturbing
the
surface,
was
enough
to
change
its
accidental
path
with
its
accidental
burden.
The
touch
of
a
bunch
of
leaves
turned
it
slowly,
tracing
a
thin
red
circle
in
the
water,
like
a
leg
of
transit.
After
we
started
moving
Gatsby
toward
the
house,
the
gardener
saw
Wilson’s
body
a
little
way
off
in
the
grass,
and
the
tragedy
was
complete.
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El Gran Gatsby — B1 Inglés | Cuentana