1 Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog.
2 "I think it's cute," said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically.
3 Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain.
4 "Ask Myrtle," said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray.
5 He believed that Mrs. Wilson had been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any particular car.
6 We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson who removed a strand of hair from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile.
7 So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New York--or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car.
8 Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases and went haughtily in.
9 Then the valley of ashes opened out on both sides of us, and I had a glimpse of Mrs. Wilson straining at the garage pump with panting vitality as we went by.
10 Just as Tom and Myrtle--after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names--reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment door.
11 Sitting on Tom's lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes and I went out to buy some at the drug store on the corner.
12 Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood face to face discussing in impassioned voices whether Mrs. Wilson had any right to mention Daisy's name.
13 When he came outside again a little after seven he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Mrs. Wilson's voice, loud and scolding, downstairs in the garage.
14 Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before and was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream colored chiffon, which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room.
15 He informed me that he was in the "artistic game" and I gathered later that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of Mrs. Wilson's mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall.
16 The airedale--undoubtedly there was an airedale concerned in it somewhere though its feet were startlingly white--changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson's lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture.