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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 1
Music
drifted
from
my
neighbor's
house
on
summer
nights.
In
his
blue
gardens,
men
and
women
moved
like
moths
among
the
whispers,
champagne,
and
stars.
In
the
afternoons,
I
watched
his
guests
diving
from
the
tower
of
his
raft
or
sunbathing
on
the
hot
sand
while
his
two
motorboats
cut
through
the
Sound,
pulling
aquaplanes
over
waves
of
foam.
On
weekends,
his
Rolls-Royce
acted
like
a
bus,
taking
parties
to
and
from
the
city
from
nine
in
the
morning
until
late
at
night,
while
his
station
wagon
dashed
around
like
a
quick
yellow
bug
to
meet
all
the
trains.
On
Mondays,
eight
servants,
including
an
extra
gardener,
worked
all
day
with
mops,
brushes,
hammers,
and
garden
shears
to
fix
the
damage
from
the
night
before.
Every
Friday,
five
crates
of
oranges
and
lemons
arrived
from
a
fruit
seller
in
New
York.
By
Monday,
these
same
oranges
and
lemons
left
his
back
door
in
a
pyramid
of
empty
halves.
There
was
a
machine
in
the
kitchen
that
could
juice
two
hundred
oranges
in
half
an
hour
if
a
butler
pressed
a
button
two
hundred
times
with
his
thumb.
At
least
once
every
two
weeks,
a
team
of
caterers
arrived
with
hundreds
of
feet
of
canvas
and
enough
colored
lights
to
turn
Gatsby’s
huge
garden
into
a
Christmas
tree.
Buffet
tables,
adorned
with
shiny
hors-d'oeuvres,
were
crowded
with
spiced
baked
hams,
salads
with
colorful
designs,
pastry
pigs,
and
turkeys
turned
a
dark
gold.
In
the
main
hall,
a
bar
with
a
real
brass
rail
was
set
up,
stocked
with
gins,
liquors,
and
cordials
so
old
that
most
of
his
female
guests
were
too
young
to
recognize
them.
By
seven
o’clock,
the
orchestra
had
arrived—not
just
a
small
five-piece
band,
but
a
whole
pit
of
oboes,
trombones,
saxophones,
viols,
cornets,
piccolos,
and
drums
of
all
kinds.
The
last
swimmers
had
returned
from
the
beach
and
were
dressing
upstairs.
Cars
from
New
York
were
parked
five
deep
in
the
drive,
and
the
halls,
salons,
and
verandas
were
already
bright
with
primary
colors,
bobbed
hair
in
new
styles,
and
shawls
more
beautiful
than
dreams.
The
bar
was
in
full
swing,
and
rounds
of
cocktails
floated
through
the
garden
outside,
making
the
air
alive
with
chatter,
laughter,
casual
remarks,
and
forgotten
introductions,
along
with
enthusiastic
meetings
between
women
who
never
knew
each
other’s
names.
As
the
earth
moved
away
from
the
sun,
the
lights
grew
brighter,
and
now
the
orchestra
played
lively
cocktail
music.
Voices
rose
in
pitch,
and
laughter
became
easier,
spilling
out
with
abundance
at
a
cheerful
word.
Groups
changed
quickly,
grew
with
new
arrivals,
dissolved,
and
formed
again
in
an
instant.
There
were
wanderers,
confident
girls
weaving
through
the
crowd,
becoming
the
center
of
attention
for
a
brief,
joyful
moment,
then
moving
on,
excited
by
their
success,
through
the
ever-changing
sea
of
faces,
voices,
and
colors
under
the
shifting
light.
Suddenly,
one
of
these
girls,
dressed
in
trembling
opal,
grabbed
a
cocktail
from
the
air,
drank
it
for
courage,
and,
moving
her
hands
like
a
dancer,
stepped
out
alone
onto
the
canvas
platform.
A
brief
hush
followed;
the
orchestra
leader
changed
his
rhythm
for
her,
and
chatter
erupted
as
the
false
news
spread
that
she
was
Gilda
Gray’s
understudy
from
the
Follies.
The
party
had
truly
begun.
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana