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Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?
Yes I was in the 9th Machine-Gun Battalion
•‘I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.’ (Chapter 1, page 24)
‘Your face is familiar,’ he said, politely. ‘Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?’ ‘Why, yes. I was in the Ninth Machine-Gun Battalion.’ ‘I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.’ We talked for a moment about some wet, grey little villages in France. Evidently he lived in this vicinity for he told me that he had just bought a hydroplane and was going to try it out in the morning. ‘Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.’ ‘What time?’ ‘Any time that suits you best.’ It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan looked around and smiled. ‘Having a gay time now?’ she inquired. ‘Much better.’ I turned again to my new acquaintance. ‘This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there——’ I waved my hand at the invisible hedge in the distance, ‘and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.’ For a moment he looked at me as if he failed to understand. ‘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.’ (Chapter 3, pages 52 and 45)
‘The largest of the banners and the largest of the lawns belonged to Daisy Fay’s house. She was just eighteen, two years older than me, and by far the most popular of all the young girls in Louisville. She dressed in white, and had a little white roadster and all day long the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers from Camp Taylor demanded the privilege of monopolizing her that night, ‘anyways, for an hour!’ When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was beside the curb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that she didn’t see me until I was five feet ‘Hello Jordan,’ she called unexpectedly. ‘Please come here.’ I was flattered that she wanted to speak to me, because of all the older girls I admired her most. She asked me if I was going to the Red Cross and make bandages. I was. Well, then, would I tell them that she couldn’t come that day? The officer looked at Daisy while she was speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at sometime, and because it seemed romantic to me I have remembered the incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby and I didn’t lay eyes on him again for over four years—even after I’d met him on Long Island I didn’t realize it was the same man.’ (Chapter 4, pages 80 and 81)
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