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I went out into the yard. Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisy's face, tipped side ways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat looked out at me with bright ecstatic smile.
Went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.
Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes
I heard a sort of chocking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisy's voice on a clear artificial note: "I certainly am awfully glad to see you again."
His lips parted with an abortive attempt to laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers and set it back in place.
"We haven't met for many years," said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be. "Five years November." The automatic quality of Gatsby's answer set us all back a t least another minute.
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