“The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly in her mother’s dress” (Fitzgerald 117).
Bles-ed pre-cious. Come to your own mother who loves you. (Fitzgerald 117)
Stand up now, and say- how-de-do. (Fitzgerald 117)
“Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small, reluctant hand. Afterword he kept
looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he had ever really believed in its existence” (Fitzgerald 117).
How do you like your mother's friends? Do you think they're pretty? (Fitzgerald 117).
She doesn't look like her father. She looks like me. She's got my hair and shape of face. (Fitzgerald 117)
Where's daddy? (Fitzgerald 117)
“With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to her nurse’s hand and was pulled out the door...” (Fitzgerald 117).
Good-by, sweetheart! (Fitzgerald 117).
Come Pammy. (Fitzgerald 117)
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