Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left—the grass on his lawn had
grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never took
a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and pointing
inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg
the night of the accident and perhaps he had made a story about it all
his own. I didn’t want to hear it and I avoided him when I got off the train.
去书内
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橙味汤圆
Maye in that really when everything seems so hypocritical, we can understand Daisy's behaviour of not to go to see Gatsby, but it is actually her false. Gasby has done a lot of things all for her, but she finally behaved as if they were stranger, which makes me feel so irritated and speechless.