1 He touched his head impressively and I nodded.
2 "You don't understand," said Gatsby, with a touch of panic.
3 She walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand.
4 It was touching to see them together--it made you laugh in a hushed, fascinated way.
5 At his lips' touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.
6 They weren't happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale--and yet they weren't unhappy either.
7 Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her.
8 The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of compass, a thin red circle in the water.
9 They were still under the white plum tree and their faces were touching except for a pale thin ray of moonlight between.
10 There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked--and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.
11 Their interest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich--nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgusted as I drove away.
12 He took what he could get, ravenously and unscrupulously--eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took her because he had no real right to touch her hand.
13 A massage and a wave and a collar for the dog and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother's grave that'll last all summer.
14 They had never been closer in their month of love nor communicated more profoundly one with another than when she brushed silent lips against his coat's shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.
15 But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.
16 When the "Jazz History of the World" was over girls were putting their heads on men's shoulders in a puppyish, convivial way, girls were swooning backward playfully into men's arms, even into groups knowing that some one would arrest their falls--but no one swooned backward on Gatsby and no French bob touched Gatsby's shoulder and no singing quartets were formed with Gatsby's head for one link.