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51
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 2
I
believe
that
on
the
first
night
I
went
to
Gatsby’s
house
I
was
one
of
the
few
guests
who
had
actually
been
invited.
People
were
not
invited—they
went
there.
They
got
into
automobiles
which
bore
them
out
to
Long
Island,
and
somehow
they
ended
up
at
Gatsby’s
door.
Once
there
they
were
introduced
by
somebody
who
knew
Gatsby,
and
after
that
they
conducted
themselves
according
to
the
rules
of
behaviour
associated
with
an
amusement
park.
Sometimes
they
came
and
went
without
having
met
Gatsby
at
all,
came
for
the
party
with
a
simplicity
of
heart
that
was
its
own
ticket
of
admission.
I
had
been
actually
invited.
A
chauffeur
in
a
uniform
of
robin’s-egg
blue
crossed
my
lawn
early
that
Saturday
morning
with
a
surprisingly
formal
note
from
his
employer:
the
honour
would
be
entirely
Gatsby’s,
it
said,
if
I
would
attend
his
“little
party”
that
night.
He
had
seen
me
several
times,
and
had
intended
to
call
on
me
long
before,
but
a
peculiar
combination
of
circumstances
had
prevented
it—signed
Jay
Gatsby,
in
a
majestic
hand.
Dressed
up
in
white
flannels
I
went
over
to
his
lawn
a
little
after
seven,
and
wandered
around
rather
ill
at
ease
among
swirls
and
eddies
of
people
I
didn’t
know—though
here
and
there
was
a
face
I
had
noticed
on
the
commuting
train.
I
was
immediately
struck
by
the
number
of
young
Englishmen
dotted
about;
all
well
dressed,
all
looking
a
little
hungry,
and
all
talking
in
low,
earnest
voices
to
solid
and
prosperous
Americans.
I
was
sure
that
they
were
selling
something:
bonds
or
insurance
or
automobiles.
They
were
at
least
agonizingly
aware
of
the
easy
money
in
the
vicinity
and
convinced
that
it
was
theirs
for
a
few
words
in
the
right
key.
As
soon
as
I
arrived
I
made
an
attempt
to
find
my
host,
but
the
two
or
three
people
of
whom
I
asked
his
whereabouts
stared
at
me
in
such
an
amazed
way,
and
denied
so
vehemently
any
knowledge
of
his
movements,
that
I
slunk
off
in
the
direction
of
the
cocktail
table—the
only
place
in
the
garden
where
a
single
man
could
linger
without
looking
purposeless
and
alone.
I
was
on
my
way
to
get
roaring
drunk
from
sheer
embarrassment
when
Jordan
Baker
came
out
of
the
house
and
stood
at
the
head
of
the
marble
steps,
leaning
a
little
backward
and
looking
with
contemptuous
interest
down
into
the
garden.
Welcome
or
not,
I
found
it
necessary
to
attach
myself
to
someone
before
I
should
begin
to
address
cordial
remarks
to
the
passersby.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana