1 Tell 'em all Daisy's change' her mine.
2 A breeze stirred the grey haze of Daisy's fur collar.
3 But he knew that he was in Daisy's house by a colossal accident.
4 He spoke as if Daisy's reaction was the only thing that mattered.
5 Daisy's voice got us to our feet and out on to the blazing gravel drive.
6 His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy's white face came up to his own.
7 Daisy's face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
8 I looked at the house: there were two or three bright windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy's room on the second floor.
9 Daisy's face was smeared with tears and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror.
10 Then from the living room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh followed by Daisy's voice on a clear artificial note.
11 Tom was evidently perturbed at Daisy's running around alone, for on the following Saturday night he came with her to Gatsby's party.
12 They arrived at twilight and as we strolled out among the sparkling hundreds Daisy's voice was playing murmurous tricks in her throat.
13 Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood face to face discussing in impassioned voices whether Mrs. Wilson had any right to mention Daisy's name.
14 He lit Daisy's cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.
15 When we were on a house-party together up in Warwick, she left a borrowed car out in the rain with the top down, and then lied about it--and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me that night at Daisy's.
16 This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn't believe it--I had no sight into Daisy's heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.
17 Or perhaps I had merely grown used to it, grown to accept West Egg as a world complete in itself, with its own standards and its own great figures, second to nothing because it had no consciousness of being so, and now I was looking at it again, through Daisy's eyes.
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