1 Under the dripping bare lilac trees a large open car was coming up the drive.
2 The Buchanans' house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling trees.
3 like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.
4 Gatsby indicated a gorgeous, scarcely human orchid of a woman who sat in state under a white plum tree.
5 The shadow of a tree fell abruptly across the dew and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves.
6 They were still under the white plum tree and their faces were touching except for a pale thin ray of moonlight between.
7 Only wind in the trees which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on again as if the house had winked into the darkness.
8 We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the facade of Fifty-ninth Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park.
9 It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices in the trees.
10 There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby's enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half an hour.
11 Once he stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among the yellowing trees.
12 At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby's enormous garden.
13 The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life.
14 One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight.
15 I walked out the back way--just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before--and ran for a huge black knotted tree whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain.
16 The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea.
17 Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
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