Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby. Френсис Скотт Фицджеральд

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      “Oh, no,” said the first girl, “it couldn’t be that, because he was in the American army during the war. But just look at him sometimes when he thinks nobody’s looking at him. I’ll bet he killed a man.”

      We all turned and looked around for Gatsby.

      The first supper—there would be another one after midnight—was now being served, and Jordan invited me to join her around a table on the other side of the garden.

      “Let’s get out,” whispered Jordan, after a half hour.

      We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host.

      The bar, where we went first, was crowded but Gatsby was not there. She couldn’t find him from the top of the steps, and he wasn’t on the veranda. We opened a heavy door, and walked into a library.

      A stout, middle-aged man with enormous spectacles was sitting on the edge of a great table, staring at the shelves of books. As we entered he turned around and examined Jordan from head to foot.

      “What do you think?” he demanded impetuously.

      “About what?”

      He waved his hand toward the book-shelves.

      “About that. They’re real.”

      “The books?”

      He nodded.

      “Absolutely real—have pages and everything. I thought they were unreal. But they’re absolutely real. Pages and—Here! Let me show you.”

      He rushed to the bookcases and returned with a big volume.

      “See!” he cried triumphantly. “It’s a masterpiece. But he didn’t cut the pages. What do you want? What do you expect?”

      He took the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf.

      “Who brought you?” he demanded. “Or did you just come? I was brought. Most people were brought.”

      Jordan looked at him cheerfully without answering.

      “I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,” he continued. “Mrs. Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I’ve been drunk for about a week now, and I decide to sit in a library.”

      “And?”

      “I can’t tell yet. I’ve only been here an hour. Did I tell you about the books? They’re real. They’re…”

      “You told us.”

      We shook hands with him gravely and went back outdoors.

      I tried to find the host. I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man of about my age and a girl who was laughing all the time. I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two glasses of champagne.