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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 9, Página 28
I
shook
hands
with
him;
it
seemed
silly
not
to,
as
I
suddenly
felt
like
I
was
talking
to
a
child.
Then
he
went
into
the
jewelry
store
to
buy
a
pearl
necklace—or
maybe
just
a
pair
of
cuff
buttons—free
of
my
provincial
squeamishness
forever.
Gatsby’s
house
was
still
empty
when
I
left—the
grass
on
his
lawn
had
grown
as
long
as
mine.
One
of
the
taxi
drivers
in
the
village
never
passed
the
entrance
gate
without
stopping
for
a
minute
and
pointing
inside;
maybe
he
was
the
one
who
drove
Daisy
and
Gatsby
over
to
East
Egg
the
night
of
the
accident,
and
maybe
he
had
made
up
his
own
story
about
it.
I
didn’t
want
to
hear
it
and
avoided
him
when
I
got
off
the
train.
I
spent
my
Saturday
nights
in
New
York
because
those
bright,
dazzling
parties
of
his
stayed
with
me
so
vividly
that
I
could
still
hear
the
music
and
laughter,
faint
and
endless,
from
his
garden,
and
the
cars
going
up
and
down
his
drive.
One
night
I
did
hear
a
real
car
there
and
saw
its
lights
stop
at
his
front
steps.
But
I
didn’t
investigate.
It
was
probably
some
last
guest
who
had
been
away
at
the
ends
of
the
earth
and
didn’t
know
that
the
party
was
over.
On
the
last
night,
with
my
trunk
packed
and
my
car
sold
to
the
grocer,
I
went
over
and
looked
at
that
huge
incoherent
failure
of
a
house
once
more.
On
the
white
steps,
an
obscene
word,
scrawled
by
some
boy
with
a
piece
of
brick,
stood
out
clearly
in
the
moonlight,
and
I
erased
it,
dragging
my
shoe
along
the
stone.
Then
I
wandered
down
to
the
beach
and
lay
out
on
the
sand.
Most
of
the
big
shore
places
were
closed
now,
and
there
were
hardly
any
lights
except
the
shadowy,
moving
glow
of
a
ferryboat
across
the
Sound.
As
the
moon
rose
higher,
the
unimportant
houses
began
to
fade
away
until
gradually
I
became
aware
of
the
old
island
here
that
once
bloomed
for
Dutch
sailors’
eyes—a
fresh,
green
breast
of
the
new
world.
Its
vanished
trees,
the
trees
that
had
made
way
for
Gatsby’s
house,
had
once
whispered
to
the
last
and
greatest
of
all
human
dreams;
for
a
brief
enchanted
moment,
man
must
have
held
his
breath
in
the
presence
of
this
continent,
drawn
into
an
aesthetic
contemplation
he
neither
understood
nor
desired,
face
to
face
for
the
last
time
in
history
with
something
equal
to
his
capacity
for
wonder.
As
I
sat
there
brooding
on
the
old,
unknown
world,
I
thought
of
Gatsby’s
wonder
when
he
first
saw
the
green
light
at
the
end
of
Daisy’s
dock.
He
had
come
a
long
way
to
this
blue
lawn,
and
his
dream
must
have
seemed
so
close
that
he
could
hardly
fail
to
grasp
it.
He
didn’t
know
that
it
was
already
behind
him,
somewhere
back
in
that
vast
darkness
beyond
the
city,
where
the
dark
fields
of
the
republic
stretched
under
the
night.
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana