EN + ES
Escuchar
87
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 4, Página 9
He
wouldn’t
say
another
word.
He
became
more
formal
as
we
neared
the
city.
We
passed
Port
Roosevelt,
where
we
caught
a
glimpse
of
red-belted
oceangoing
ships,
and
sped
along
a
cobbled
slum
lined
with
the
dark,
busy
saloons
of
the
faded-gilt
early
1900s.
Then
the
valley
of
ashes
opened
on
both
sides
of
us,
and
I
saw
Mrs.
Wilson
straining
at
the
garage
pump
with
energetic
vitality
as
we
passed
by.
With
fenders
spread
like
wings,
we
scattered
light
through
half
of
Astoria—only
half,
because
as
we
twisted
among
the
pillars
of
the
elevated
train,
I
heard
the
familiar
"jug-jug-spat!"
of
a
motorcycle,
and
a
frantic
policeman
rode
alongside.
"All
right,
old
sport,"
called
Gatsby.
We
slowed
down.
He
took
a
white
card
from
his
wallet
and
waved
it
in
front
of
the
policeman’s
eyes.
"Right
you
are,"
agreed
the
policeman,
tipping
his
cap.
"I’ll
know
you
next
time,
Mr.
Gatsby.
Excuse
me!"
"What
was
that?"
I
asked.
"A
picture
from
Oxford?"
"I
was
able
to
do
the
commissioner
a
favor
once,
and
he
sends
me
a
Christmas
card
every
year."
||
||
El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana