The Great Gatsby

toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most,
with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, because it couldn’t be
over-dreamed—that voice was a deathless song.

They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand;
Gatsby didn’t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they
looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went
out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them
there together.


                                  VI

About this time an ambitious young reporter from New York arrived one
morning at Gatsby’s door and asked him if he had anything to say.

“Anything to say about what?” inquired Gatsby politely.

“Why—any statement to give out.”

It transpired after a confused five minutes that the man had heard
Gatsby’s name around his office in a connection which he either
wouldn’t reveal or didn’t fully understand. This was his day off and
with laudable initiative he had hurried out “to see.”

It was a random shot, and yet the reporter’s instinct was right.
Gatsby’s notoriety, spread about by the hundreds who had accepted his
hospitality and so become authorities upon his past, had increased all