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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 7, Página 4
The
next
day
was
broiling,
almost
the
last,
certainly
the
warmest,
of
the
summer.
As
my
train
emerged
from
the
tunnel
into
sunlight,
only
the
hot
whistles
of
the
National
Biscuit
Company
broke
the
simmering
hush
at
noon.
The
straw
seats
of
the
car
hovered
on
the
edge
of
combustion;
the
woman
next
to
me
perspired
delicately
for
a
while
into
her
white
shirtwaist,
and
then,
as
her
newspaper
dampened
under
her
fingers,
lapsed
despairingly
into
deep
heat
with
a
desolate
cry.
Her
pocketbook
slapped
to
the
floor.
“Oh,
my!”
she
gasped.
I
picked
it
up
with
a
weary
bend
and
handed
it
back
to
her,
holding
it
at
arm’s
length
and
by
the
extreme
tip
of
the
corners
to
indicate
that
I
had
no
designs
upon
it—but
everyone
near
by,
including
the
woman,
suspected
me
just
the
same.
“Hot!”
said
the
conductor
to
familiar
faces.
“Some
weather!…
Hot!…
Hot!…
Hot!…
Is
it
hot
enough
for
you?
Is
it
hot?
Is
it…?”
My
commutation
ticket
came
back
to
me
with
a
dark
stain
from
his
hand.
That
anyone
should
care
in
this
heat
whose
flushed
lips
he
kissed,
whose
head
made
damp
the
pyjama
pocket
over
his
heart!
…
Through
the
hall
of
the
Buchanans’
house
blew
a
faint
wind,
carrying
the
sound
of
the
telephone
bell
out
to
Gatsby
and
me
as
we
waited
at
the
door.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana