EN + ES
Escuchar
210
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 7, Página 53
"Beat
me!"
he
heard
her
cry.
"Throw
me
down
and
beat
me,
you
dirty
little
coward!"
A
moment
later,
she
rushed
out
into
the
dusk,
waving
her
hands
and
shouting—before
he
could
move
from
his
door,
it
was
over.
The
"death
car,"
as
the
newspapers
called
it,
didn't
stop;
it
emerged
from
the
growing
darkness,
wavered
tragically
for
a
moment,
and
then
vanished
around
the
next
bend.
Michaelis
wasn't
even
sure
of
its
color—he
told
the
first
policeman
it
was
light
green.
The
other
car,
the
one
heading
toward
New
York,
stopped
a
hundred
yards
beyond,
and
its
driver
hurried
back
to
where
Myrtle
Wilson,
her
life
violently
ended,
knelt
in
the
road
and
mixed
her
thick
dark
blood
with
the
dust.
Michaelis
and
this
man
reached
her
first,
but
when
they
tore
open
her
shirt,
still
damp
with
sweat,
they
saw
that
her
left
breast
was
swinging
loose
like
a
flap,
and
there
was
no
need
to
listen
for
the
heart
beneath.
Her
mouth
was
wide
open
and
ripped
a
little
at
the
corners,
as
though
she
had
choked
a
little
in
giving
up
the
tremendous
vitality
she
had
stored
for
so
long.
We
saw
the
three
or
four
cars
and
the
crowd
when
we
were
still
some
distance
away.
"Wreck!"
said
Tom.
"That's
good.
Wilson'll
finally
have
some
business."
||
||
El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana