1 I'll have to follow you in my car.
2 He saw me looking with admiration at his car.
3 Under the dripping bare lilac trees a large open car was coming up the drive.
4 It wasn't until then that I connected this Gatsby with the officer in her white car.
5 It was on that same house party that we had a curious conversation about driving a car.
6 A week after I left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night and ripped a front wheel off his car.
7 The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner.
8 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.
9 At least a dozen men, some of them little better off than he was, explained to him that wheel and car were no longer joined by any physical bond.
10 A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across her cheek and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.
11 At nine o'clock, one morning late in July Gatsby's gorgeous car lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody from its three noted horn.
12 I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and taking hold of my elbow literally forced me from the car.
13 The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short upper lips of south-eastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of Gatsby's splendid car was included in their somber holiday.
14 A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in the middle of the road, looking from the car to the tire and from the tire to the observers in a pleasant, puzzled way.
15 When we were on a house-party together up in Warwick, she left a borrowed car out in the rain with the top down, and then lied about it--and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me that night at Daisy's.
16 Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard.
17 He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly American--that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youth and, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games.
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