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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 9, Página 28
I
shook
hands
with
him;
it
seemed
silly
not
to,
for
I
felt
suddenly
as
though
I
were
talking
to
a
child.
Then
he
went
into
the
jewellery
store
to
buy
a
pearl
necklace—or
perhaps
only
a
pair
of
cuff
buttons—rid
of
my
provincial
squeamishness
forever.
Gatsby’s
house
was
still
empty
when
I
left—the
grass
on
his
lawn
had
grown
as
long
as
mine.
One
of
the
taxi
drivers
in
the
village
never
took
a
fare
past
the
entrance
gate
without
stopping
for
a
minute
and
pointing
inside;
perhaps
it
was
he
who
drove
Daisy
and
Gatsby
over
to
East
Egg
the
night
of
the
accident,
and
perhaps
he
had
made
a
story
about
it
all
his
own.
I
didn’t
want
to
hear
it
and
I
avoided
him
when
I
got
off
the
train.
I
spent
my
Saturday
nights
in
New
York
because
those
gleaming,
dazzling
parties
of
his
were
with
me
so
vividly
that
I
could
still
hear
the
music
and
the
laughter,
faint
and
incessant,
from
his
garden,
and
the
cars
going
up
and
down
his
drive.
One
night
I
did
hear
a
material
car
there,
and
saw
its
lights
stop
at
his
front
steps.
But
I
didn’t
investigate.
Probably
it
was
some
final
guest
who
had
been
away
at
the
ends
of
the
earth
and
didn’t
know
that
the
party
was
over.
On
the
last
night,
with
my
trunk
packed
and
my
car
sold
to
the
grocer,
I
went
over
and
looked
at
that
huge
incoherent
failure
of
a
house
once
more.
On
the
white
steps
an
obscene
word,
scrawled
by
some
boy
with
a
piece
of
brick,
stood
out
clearly
in
the
moonlight,
and
I
erased
it,
drawing
my
shoe
raspingly
along
the
stone.
Then
I
wandered
down
to
the
beach
and
sprawled
out
on
the
sand.
Most
of
the
big
shore
places
were
closed
now
and
there
were
hardly
any
lights
except
the
shadowy,
moving
glow
of
a
ferryboat
across
the
Sound.
And
as
the
moon
rose
higher
the
inessential
houses
began
to
melt
away
until
gradually
I
became
aware
of
the
old
island
here
that
flowered
once
for
Dutch
sailors’
eyes—a
fresh,
green
breast
of
the
new
world.
Its
vanished
trees,
the
trees
that
had
made
way
for
Gatsby’s
house,
had
once
pandered
in
whispers
to
the
last
and
greatest
of
all
human
dreams;
for
a
transitory
enchanted
moment
man
must
have
held
his
breath
in
the
presence
of
this
continent,
compelled
into
an
aesthetic
contemplation
he
neither
understood
nor
desired,
face
to
face
for
the
last
time
in
history
with
something
commensurate
to
his
capacity
for
wonder.
And
as
I
sat
there
brooding
on
the
old,
unknown
world,
I
thought
of
Gatsby’s
wonder
when
he
first
picked
out
the
green
light
at
the
end
of
Daisy’s
dock.
He
had
come
a
long
way
to
this
blue
lawn,
and
his
dream
must
have
seemed
so
close
that
he
could
hardly
fail
to
grasp
it.
He
did
not
know
that
it
was
already
behind
him,
somewhere
back
in
that
vast
obscurity
beyond
the
city,
where
the
dark
fields
of
the
republic
rolled
on
under
the
night.
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El Gran Gatsby — C1 Inglés | Cuentana