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dimanche, octobre 09, 2016

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the rain falls gx2pj on,” and then the owl-eyed mansaid â€Å"Amen to that, ” in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the f1wygx2j rain to the cars.




Owl-eyes spoke to me by the gate. â€Å"I couldn’t gx2pj get to f1wygx2j the 7f1wygxpj ygx2pj 7f1wygxpj house, ” he remarked. â€Å"Neither could anybody else.” â€Å"Go on!” He started. â€Å"Why, my God! they used to go there





by the hundreds.” He took f1wygx2j ygx2pj off wygx2pj his glhies and wiped them again, gx2pj outside and in. â€Å"The poor son-of-a-switch,” he said. One of my most vivid f1wygx2j memories is of coming back West from


prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at gx2pj six o’clock of a December evening,



with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday hieties, to 2pj bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss


This-or-that’s and the chatter of 2pj frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: â€Å"Are you going to the


Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul ygx2pj


railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real x2pj



snow, our snow, began 2pj to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights 2pj of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into



the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange ygx2pj


hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat 7f1wygxpj or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the



thrilling returning trains f1wygx2j of my 7f1wygxpj youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty darkand the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by


lighted windows on 2pj the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the hil of 2pj those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a x2pj city 7f1wygxpj where



dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after 2pj all — Tom and Gatsby, ygx2pj x2pj Daisy and Jordan and I, were f1wygx2j all



Westerners, and perhaps we ygx2pj possessed some 2pj deficiency in common which made us f1wygx2j subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most



keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the wygx2pj Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very



old — even then it had always for me a quality of gx2pj gx2pj distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my 7f1wygxpj more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred



houses, at once 2pj wygx2pj conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging 7f1wygxpj sky and a hireless moon. in 7f1wygxpj the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking .








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