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“This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there ——”
“I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly. “What!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I beg your pardon.” “I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.”
“Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?” “He’s just a man named Gatsby.”
“And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.”
“Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr. Gatsby would like to speak to you alone.” “With me?” she exclaimed in surprise.
Blinded by the glare of the headlights and confused by the incessant groaning of the horns
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