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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 17
"With
me?"
she
exclaimed,
surprised.
"Yes,
madame."
She
rose
slowly,
raising
her
eyebrows
at
me
in
astonishment,
and
followed
the
butler
toward
the
house.
I
noticed
she
wore
her
evening
dress,
all
her
dresses,
like
sports
clothes—there
was
a
lively
quality
to
her
movements,
as
if
she
had
first
learned
to
walk
on
golf
courses
on
fresh,
crisp
mornings.
I
was
alone,
and
it
was
almost
two.
For
some
time,
confusing
and
intriguing
sounds
had
been
coming
from
a
long,
many-windowed
room
overlooking
the
terrace.
Avoiding
Jordan's
college
friend,
who
was
now
deep
in
conversation
with
two
chorus
girls
and
urging
me
to
join
him,
I
went
inside.
The
large
room
was
crowded.
One
girl
in
yellow
played
the
piano,
and
next
to
her
stood
a
tall,
red-haired
young
woman
from
a
famous
chorus,
singing.
She
had
drunk
a
lot
of
champagne,
and
during
her
song,
she
decided,
awkwardly,
that
everything
was
very
sad—she
wasn't
just
singing,
she
was
crying
too.
Whenever
there
was
a
pause
in
the
song,
she
filled
it
with
gasping,
broken
sobs,
then
resumed
singing
in
a
trembling
soprano.
Tears
ran
down
her
cheeks—not
freely,
though,
as
when
they
touched
her
heavily
mascaraed
lashes,
they
turned
inky
and
trickled
slowly
down.
Someone
jokingly
suggested
she
sing
the
notes
on
her
face,
at
which
point
she
threw
up
her
hands,
sank
into
a
chair,
and
fell
into
a
deep
wine-induced
sleep.
"She
had
a
fight
with
a
man
who
claims
he's
her
husband,"
explained
a
girl
at
my
elbow.
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana