Great Gatsby
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EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
he wants to know, Continued Jordan. If you'll invite Daisy to your house some afternoon and then let him come over, the modesty of the demand shook me. He'd waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed Starlight to casual mouths so that he could come over some afternoon to a stranger's garden. Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing? He's afraid, has waited so long he thought you might be offended. You see, he's a regular tough underneath it all something worried me. Why didn't he ask you to arrange a meeting? He wants her to see his house, she explained, And your house is right next door. Oh, I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties. Some night went on Jordan, but you never did. Then he began asking people casually if they knew her and I was the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should have heard the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York, and I thought he'd go mad I don't want to do anything out of the way. He kept saying, I want to see her right next door. When I said you were a particular friend of Tom's, he started to abandon the whole idea. He doesn't know very much about Tom, though. He says he's read a Chicago paper for years, just on the chance of catching a glimpse of Daisy's name. It was dark now, as we dipped under a little bridge, I put my arm around Jordan's golden shoulder and drew her towards me and asked her to dinner. Suddenly, I wasn't thinking of Daisy and Gatsby anymore. But if this clean, hard, limited person who dealt in universal skepticism and who leaned back jauntily just within the circle of my arm, a phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement, there are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired. And Daisy ought to have something in her life murmur Jordan to me. Does she want to see Gatsby? She's not to know about it. Gatsby doesn't want her to know. You're just supposed to invite her to T. We passed a barrier of dark trees and then the facade of 59th Street, a block of delicate, pale light beam down in the park. Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs. So I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms or one score. Falmouth smiled, and so I drew her up again, closer this time to my face.