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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 8, Página 19
Gatsby
shouldered
the
mattress
and
started
for
the
pool.
Once
he
stopped
and
shifted
it
a
little,
and
the
chauffeur
asked
him
if
he
needed
help,
but
he
shook
his
head
and
in
a
moment
disappeared
among
the
yellowing
trees.
No
telephone
message
arrived,
but
the
butler
went
without
his
sleep
and
waited
for
it
until
four
o’clock—until
long
after
there
was
anyone
to
give
it
to
if
it
came.
I
have
an
idea
that
Gatsby
himself
didn’t
believe
it
would
come,
and
perhaps
he
no
longer
cared.
If
that
was
true
he
must
have
felt
that
he
had
lost
the
old
warm
world,
paid
a
high
price
for
living
too
long
with
a
single
dream.
He
must
have
looked
up
at
an
unfamiliar
sky
through
frightening
leaves
and
shivered
as
he
found
what
a
grotesque
thing
a
rose
is
and
how
raw
the
sunlight
was
upon
the
scarcely
created
grass.
A
new
world,
material
without
being
real,
where
poor
ghosts,
breathing
dreams
like
air,
drifted
fortuitously
about…
like
that
ashen,
fantastic
figure
gliding
toward
him
through
the
amorphous
trees.
The
chauffeur—he
was
one
of
Wolfshiem’s
protégés—heard
the
shots—afterwards
he
could
only
say
that
he
hadn’t
thought
anything
much
about
them.
I
drove
from
the
station
directly
to
Gatsby’s
house
and
my
rushing
anxiously
up
the
front
steps
was
the
first
thing
that
alarmed
anyone.
But
they
knew
then,
I
firmly
believe.
With
scarcely
a
word
said,
four
of
us,
the
chauffeur,
butler,
gardener,
and
I
hurried
down
to
the
pool.
There
was
a
faint,
barely
perceptible
movement
of
the
water
as
the
fresh
flow
from
one
end
urged
its
way
toward
the
drain
at
the
other.
With
little
ripples
that
were
hardly
the
shadows
of
waves,
the
laden
mattress
moved
irregularly
down
the
pool.
A
small
gust
of
wind
that
scarcely
corrugated
the
surface
was
enough
to
disturb
its
accidental
course
with
its
accidental
burden.
The
touch
of
a
cluster
of
leaves
revolved
it
slowly,
tracing,
like
the
leg
of
transit,
a
thin
red
circle
in
the
water.
It
was
after
we
started
with
Gatsby
toward
the
house
that
the
gardener
saw
Wilson’s
body
a
little
way
off
in
the
grass,
and
the
holocaust
was
complete.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana