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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 1, Página 4
He
had
changed
since
his
New
Haven
years.
Now
he
was
a
sturdy
straw-haired
man
of
thirty,
with
a
rather
hard
mouth
and
a
supercilious
manner.
Two
shining
arrogant
eyes
had
established
dominance
over
his
face
and
gave
him
the
appearance
of
always
leaning
aggressively
forward.
Not
even
the
effeminate
swank
of
his
riding
clothes
could
hide
the
enormous
power
of
that
body—he
seemed
to
fill
those
glistening
boots
until
he
strained
the
top
lacing,
and
you
could
see
a
great
pack
of
muscle
shifting
when
his
shoulder
moved
under
his
thin
coat.
It
was
a
body
capable
of
enormous
leverage—a
cruel
body.
His
speaking
voice,
a
gruff
husky
tenor,
added
to
the
impression
of
fractiousness
he
conveyed.
There
was
a
touch
of
paternal
contempt
in
it,
even
toward
people
he
liked—and
there
were
men
at
New
Haven
who
had
hated
his
guts.
“Now,
don’t
think
my
opinion
on
these
matters
is
final,”
he
seemed
to
say,
“just
because
I’m
stronger
and
more
of
a
man
than
you
are.”
We
were
in
the
same
senior
society,
and
while
we
were
never
intimate
I
always
had
the
impression
that
he
approved
of
me
and
wanted
me
to
like
him
with
some
harsh,
defiant
wistfulness
of
his
own.
We
talked
for
a
few
minutes
on
the
sunny
porch.
“I’ve
got
a
nice
place
here,”
he
said,
his
eyes
flashing
about
restlessly.
Turning
me
around
by
one
arm,
he
moved
a
broad
flat
hand
along
the
front
vista,
including
in
its
sweep
a
sunken
Italian
garden,
a
half
acre
of
deep,
pungent
roses,
and
a
snub-nosed
motorboat
that
bumped
the
tide
offshore.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana