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<p align="center">delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down [hashx] and shaded his eyes and [rand1] began [rand1] to laugh. “It’s the funniest thing, old sport, [mailingid] ” [rand1]
he said </p>
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<p align="right" style="font: 11px;">hilariously. <i>“I can’t [hashx] — [rand2] When I try to ——” He had [emailid] passed visibly [rand1] through two states and was entering upon a</i>third.
After [mailingid] his </p>
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embarrassment and<B>[rand1] his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had [emailid] been full </B>of the idea so long, dreamed [rand2] [rand1] it [hashx] right </p>
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through to the end, waited with his teeth set, [rand2] so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he [rand1] was running down like [emailid] an overwound clock.
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Recovering himself in a minute he [hashx] opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing-gowns and ties, and his </p>
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shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. “I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a selection of things at [checksum2] </p>
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the beginning of each season, spring and fall. ” He took out a pile of shirts and [rand2] began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of </p>
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sheer linen and thick silk and fine flannel, which lost [checksum2] [hashx] their folds as they fell and covered the table in [rand1] many-colored disarray. While we </p>
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admired he brought more and the [rand2] soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts [hashx] with <U>stripes and scrolls and</U>plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and faint [rand2] orange, and
[rand1] monograms </p>
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of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to [checksum2] cry stormily. “They’re such beautiful shirts, ” she sobbed, her [emailid] voice </p>
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muffled in the thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such — such beautiful shirts before.” After the house, we were to see the grounds and the [hashx] </p>
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swimming-pool, and the hydroplane and the mid-summer flowers — but outside Gatsby’s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a [mailingid] row looking at [mailingid] the corrugated surface of the
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Sound. “If it wasn’t for the mist we [checksum2] could see your home across the bay,” said Gatsby. “You always have [rand2] a green light that burns all night at the end </p>
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of your dock.” Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal [mailingid] </p>
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significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to<b>the great distance [hashx] that had separated him from Daisy it [mailingid] had seemed very near to her, almost touching her.</b> It
had </p>
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seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted [mailingid] [emailid] objects had diminished by one. </p>
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I began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects in [rand2] the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in </p>
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yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk. “Who’s this?” “That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.” The name sounded faintly familiar. [rand1] </p>
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“He’s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago. ” There was a [checksum2] small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume, on the bureau — Gatsby
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