1 "I'm Gatsby," he said suddenly.
2 We all turned and looked around for Gatsby.
3 "This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor----" I said.
4 The bar, where we glanced first, was crowded but Gatsby was not there.
5 Or rather, as I didn't know Mr. Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name.
6 When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
7 They got into automobiles which bore them out to Long Island and somehow they ended up at Gatsby's door.
8 I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby's house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited.
9 Sometimes they came and went without having met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that was its own ticket of admission.
10 Almost at the moment when Mr. Gatsby identified himself a butler hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him on the wire.
11 Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction--Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.
12 Once there they were introduced by somebody who knew Gatsby and after that they conducted themselves according to the rules of behavior associated with amusement parks.
13 At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden.
14 He had seen me several times and had intended to call on me long before but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it--signed Jay Gatsby in a majestic hand.
15 Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.
16 No--Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short-winded elations of men.
17 A chauffeur in a uniform of robin's egg blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning with a surprisingly formal note from his employer--the honor would be entirely Gatsby's, it said, if I would attend his "little party" that night.
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