The Great Gatsby. Адаптированная книга для чтения на английском языке. Уровень B1

There is always a halt there of at least a minute, and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan’s mistress.

The fact that he had a mistress was well-known. He went to popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, walked about, chatting with whoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire to meet her – but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon, and when we stopped by the ash heaps he jumped to his feet and, taking me by my elbow, literally forced me from the car.

«We’re getting off», he insisted. «I want you to meet my girl».

I followed him over a low railroad fence, and we walked back a hundred yards along the road. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land. One of the three shops it contained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant; the third was a garage with a sign В«Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars bought and soldВ». And I followed Tom inside.

The interior was poor; the only car visible was the dust- covered wreck of a Ford in a dark corner. Soon the owner himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. He was a blond, sad man, pale, and slightly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.

«Hello, Wilson, old man», said Tom, slapping him in a friendly way on the shoulder. «How’s business?»

«I can’t complain», answered Wilson unconvincingly.

В«When are you going to sell me that car?В»

В«Next week; my man is working on it nowВ».

«He works pretty slow, doesn’t he?»

«No, he doesn’t», said Tom coldly. «And if you feel that way about it, maybe I’d better sell it somewhere else after all».

«I don’t mean that», explained Wilson quickly. «I just meant…»

His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and in a moment the fleshy figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door.

She was in the middle thirties, and slightly stout, but she carried her body sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de-chine[18 - Крепдешин.], contained no gleam of beauty, but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her. She smiled slowly and, walking through her husband as if he were a ghost, shook hands with Tom, looking into his eyes.