"It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in the house failed to go on one Saturday night . . . only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away; . . . an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door . . . Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed by the tradesmen . . ."
"Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space . . . she had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was astounded. His mouth opened a little and he looked at Gatsby and then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago."
"In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved aside a little and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car . . . her expression was curiously familiar - it was an expression I had often seen on women's faces but on Myrtle Wilson's face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable until I realized that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed not on Tom, but on Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife."
"His wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping precipitately from his control. "
"You must be crazy!" exclaimed Tom automatically. Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement. "She never loved you, do you hear?" he cried. "She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!"
"The 'death car' as the newspapers called it, didn't stop; it came out of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment and then disappeared around the next bend. Michaelis wasn't even sure of its color - he told the first policeman that it was light green. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick, dark blood with the dust."
"I hadn't gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path" . . . "Did you see any trouble on the road?" he asked after a minute. "Yes." He hesitated. "Was she killed?" "Yes." "I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so."