english
Storyboard Text
- the invite
- seeing Jordan at the party
- "owl eyes"
- where is our host!
- these books are full of knowledge. they're so true!
- "as soon as I arrived i attempted to find my host, but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way" (Fitzgerald, 13)
- he's jay gatsby
- Welcome or not, I found it necessary to attach myself to some one before I should begin to address cordial remarks to the passers-by.“Hello!” I roared, advancing toward her. My voice seemed unnaturally loud across the garden.“I thought you might be here,” she responded absently as I came up. 
- gatsby would like to speak with you
- The bar, where we glanced first, was crowded, but Gatsby was not there. She couldn’t find him from the top of the steps, and he wasn’t on the veranda. On a chance we tried an important-looking door, and walked into a high Gothic library, paneled with carved English oak, and probably transported complete from some ruin overseas.A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spectacles, was sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a great table, staring with unsteady concentration at the shelves of books. As we entered he wheeled excitedly around and examined Jordan from head to foot.
- the truth and only the truth
-  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.”
- “Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr. Gatsby would like to speak to you alone.”“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise.“Yes, madame.”She got up slowly, raising her eyebrows at me in astonishment, and followed the butler toward the house. 
- “I’ve just heard the most amazing thing,” she whispered. “How long were we in there?”“Why, about an hour.” “It was—simply amazing,” she repeated abstractedly. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully in my face: “Please come and see me. . . . Phone book . . . Under the name of Mrs. Sigourney Howard . . . My aunt . . .” She was hurrying off as she talked—her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her party at the door.
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