The Great Gatsby

“I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the car in
my garage. I don’t think anybody saw us, but of course I can’t be
sure.”

I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’t find it necessary to
tell him he was wrong.

“Who was the woman?” he inquired.

“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did
it happen?”

“Well, I tried to swing the wheel—” He broke off, and suddenly I
guessed at the truth.

“Was Daisy driving?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I’ll say I was. You see,
when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would
steady her to drive—and this woman rushed out at us just as we were
passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute, but
it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were
somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward
the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second
my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock—it must have killed her
instantly.”

“It ripped her open—”

“Don’t tell me, old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow—Daisy stepped on it. I
tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t, so I pulled on the emergency