1 But no one knows the woman's name, and no one cares.
2 The telephone book slipped from its nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered "Excuse me"--but this time no one laughed.
3 The butler gave me his office address on Broadway and I called Information, but by the time I had the number it was long after five and no one answered the phone.
4 She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see.
5 I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and no one would ever know or disapprove.
6 I was sure he'd start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there'd be a wire from Daisy before noon--but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfshiem arrived, no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men.
7 At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn't move or breathe or speak hour upon hour it grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested--interested, I mean, with that intense personal interest to which every one has some vague right at the end.
8 When the "Jazz History of the World" was over girls were putting their heads on men's shoulders in a puppyish, convivial way, girls were swooning backward playfully into men's arms, even into groups knowing that some one would arrest their falls--but no one swooned backward on Gatsby and no French bob touched Gatsby's shoulder and no singing quartets were formed with Gatsby's head for one link.