His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes.
Nothing happened. I waited, and about four o'clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light
You ought to go away. It's pretty certain they'll trace your car.
He wouldn't consider it. He couldn't possibly leave Daisy until he knew what she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and I couldn't bear to shake him free.
He might have despised himself, for [Gatsby] had certainly taken her under false pretenses . . . he had deliberately given Daisy a sense of security; he let her believe that he was a person from much the same stratum as herself—that he was fully able to take care of her. As a matter of fact, he had no such facilities—he had no comfortable family standing behind him, and he was liable at the whim of an impersonal government to be blown anywhere about the world.
Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby's drive, and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress - I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning would be too late
She wanted her life shaped now, immediately - and the decision must be made by some force - of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality - that was close at hand.
He told her those things in a way that frightened her - that made it look as if I was some kind of cheap sharper.
She didn't see why he couldn't come. She was feeling the pressure of the world outside, and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all.
I'll call you about noon
I didn't want to go to the city. I wasn't worth a decent stroke of work, but it was more than that - I didn't want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away.
I suppose Daisy'll call too
It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody - told it to me because 'Jay Gatsby' had broken up like glass against Tom's hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played out. I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy.
Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor.
No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o'clock – until long after there was anyone to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn't believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream