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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 8, Página 1
I
couldn’t
sleep
all
night;
a
foghorn
kept
groaning
on
the
Sound,
and
I
tossed
and
turned,
feeling
half-sick
between
reality
and
disturbing
dreams.
Just
before
dawn,
I
heard
a
taxi
going
up
Gatsby’s
drive.
I
jumped
out
of
bed
and
started
getting
dressed
immediately—I
felt
an
urgent
need
to
warn
him
about
something,
and
waiting
until
morning
would
be
too
late.
As
I
crossed
his
lawn,
I
saw
his
front
door
was
still
open,
and
he
was
leaning
against
a
table
in
the
hall,
looking
exhausted
or
deeply
disappointed.
“Nothing
happened,”
he
said
weakly.
“I
waited,
and
around
four
o’clock
she
came
to
the
window,
stood
there
for
a
minute,
and
then
turned
off
the
light.”
That
night,
his
house
seemed
more
enormous
than
ever
as
we
searched
through
the
large
rooms
for
cigarettes.
We
pushed
aside
curtains
like
tents
and
felt
along
endless
dark
walls
for
light
switches—at
one
point,
I
stumbled
onto
the
keys
of
a
ghostly
piano.
There
was
a
strange
amount
of
dust
everywhere,
and
the
air
was
musty,
as
if
the
rooms
hadn’t
been
opened
for
days.
I
found
the
humidor
on
an
unfamiliar
table,
with
just
two
stale
cigarettes
inside.
We
opened
the
French
windows
in
the
drawing-room
and
sat
smoking
into
the
darkness.
“You
should
leave,”
I
said.
“It’s
very
likely
they’ll
trace
your
car.”
“Leave
now,
old
sport?”
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana