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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 2, Página 2
I
followed
him
over
a
low
whitewashed
fence,
and
we
walked
back
a
hundred
yards
along
the
road
under
Doctor
Eckleburg’s
unyielding
gaze.
The
only
building
in
sight
was
a
small
block
of
yellow
brick
on
the
edge
of
the
wasteland,
like
a
compact
Main
Street
serving
it,
and
next
to
absolutely
nothing.
One
of
the
three
shops
it
had
was
for
rent,
another
was
an
all-night
restaurant
reached
by
a
trail
of
ashes;
the
third
was
a
garage—Repairs.
George
B.
Wilson.
Cars
bought
and
sold.—and
I
followed
Tom
inside.
The
inside
was
shabby
and
bare;
the
only
car
visible
was
the
dust-covered
wreck
of
a
Ford
crouched
in
a
dim
corner.
It
occurred
to
me
that
this
shadow
of
a
garage
must
be
a
front,
and
that
luxurious
and
romantic
apartments
were
hidden
above,
when
the
owner
appeared
in
the
office
doorway,
wiping
his
hands
on
a
piece
of
waste.
He
was
a
blond,
spiritless
man,
pale
and
faintly
handsome.
When
he
saw
us,
a
damp
gleam
of
hope
appeared
in
his
light
blue
eyes.
“Hello,
Wilson,
old
man,”
said
Tom,
slapping
him
jovially
on
the
shoulder.
“How’s
business?”
“I
can’t
complain,”
Wilson
replied
unconvincingly.
“When
are
you
going
to
sell
me
that
car?”
“Next
week;
I’ve
got
my
man
working
on
it
now.”
“He
works
pretty
slow,
doesn’t
he?”
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana