Thursday, December 1, 2016

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the rain falls bf20d on,” and then the owl-eyed mansaid â€Å"Amen to that, ” in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the j7e8bf2d rain to the cars.

Owl-eyes spoke to me by the gate. â€Å"I couldn’t bf20d get to j7e8bf2d the qj7e8bf0d 8bf20d qj7e8bf0d 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 j7e8bf2d 8bf20d off e8bf20d his glhies and wiped them again, bf20d outside and in. â€Å"The poor son-of-a-switch,” he said. One of my most vivid j7e8bf2d 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 bf20d six o’clock of a December evening,

with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday hieties, to 20d 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 20d 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 8bf20d

railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real f20d

snow, our snow, began 20d to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights 20d 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 8bf20d

hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat qj7e8bf0d or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the

thrilling returning trains j7e8bf2d of my qj7e8bf0d youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty darkand the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by

lighted windows on 20d the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the hil of 20d those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a f20d city qj7e8bf0d 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 20d all — Tom and Gatsby, 8bf20d f20d Daisy and Jordan and I, were j7e8bf2d all

Westerners, and perhaps we 8bf20d possessed some 20d deficiency in common which made us j7e8bf2d 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 e8bf20d Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very

old — even then it had always for me a quality of bf20d bf20d distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my qj7e8bf0d more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred

houses, at once 20d e8bf20d conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging qj7e8bf0d sky and a hireless moon. in qj7e8bf0d the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking .

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