1 He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife.
2 His children sold his house with the black wreath still on the door.
3 We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.
4 His voice was solemn as if the memory of that sudden extinction of a clan still haunted him.
5 He was never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand.
6 They were still under the white plum tree and their faces were touching except for a pale thin ray of moonlight between.
7 Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom.
8 Crossing his lawn I saw that his front door was still open and he was leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep.
9 The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.
10 With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire and disappeared into the living room.
11 A wafer of a moon was shining over Gatsby's house, making the night fine as before and surviving the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden.
12 Then he drifted back to Lake Superior, and he was still searching for something to do on the day that Dan Cody's yacht dropped anchor in the shallows along shore.
13 He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping until, as we came nearer, the hushed intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes.
14 I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
15 Self consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago.
16 But I can still read the grey names and they will give you a better impression than my generalities of those who accepted Gatsby's hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of knowing nothing whatever about him.
17 Michaelis and this man reached her first but when they had torn open her shirtwaist still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left breast was swinging loose like a flap and there was no need to listen for the heart beneath.
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