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81
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 4, Página 3
“Good
morning,
old
sport.
You’re
having
lunch
with
me
today
and
I
thought
we’d
ride
up
together.”
He
was
balancing
himself
on
the
dashboard
of
his
car
with
that
resourcefulness
of
movement
that
is
so
peculiarly
American—that
comes,
I
suppose,
with
the
absence
of
lifting
work
in
youth
and,
even
more,
with
the
formless
grace
of
our
nervous,
sporadic
games.
This
quality
was
continually
breaking
through
his
punctilious
manner
in
the
shape
of
restlessness.
He
was
never
quite
still;
there
was
always
a
tapping
foot
somewhere
or
the
impatient
opening
and
closing
of
a
hand.
He
saw
me
looking
with
admiration
at
his
car.
“It’s
pretty,
isn’t
it,
old
sport?”
He
jumped
off
to
give
me
a
better
view.
“Haven’t
you
ever
seen
it
before?”
I’d
seen
it.
Everybody
had
seen
it.
It
was
a
rich
cream
colour,
bright
with
nickel,
swollen
here
and
there
in
its
monstrous
length
with
triumphant
hatboxes
and
supper-boxes
and
toolboxes,
and
terraced
with
a
labyrinth
of
windshields
that
mirrored
a
dozen
suns.
Sitting
down
behind
many
layers
of
glass
in
a
sort
of
green
leather
conservatory,
we
started
to
town.
I
had
talked
with
him
perhaps
half
a
dozen
times
in
the
past
month
and
found,
to
my
disappointment,
that
he
had
little
to
say.
So
my
first
impression,
that
he
was
a
person
of
some
undefined
consequence,
had
gradually
faded
and
he
had
become
simply
the
proprietor
of
an
elaborate
roadhouse
next
door.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana