Сборник лучших произведений американской классической литературы. Уровень 4

“Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!”

A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting; before he could move from his door the business was over[64 - the business was over – всё было кончено].

The “death car” as the newspapers called it, didn't stop; it came out of the gathering darkness and then disappeared around the next bend. Michaelis wasn't even sure of its colour – somebody told the first policeman that it was yellow.

Myrtle Wilson was lying dead. Her mouth was wide open.

We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.

“Wreck!” said Tom. “That's good. Wilson'll have a little business at last. We'll take a look, just a look.”

Then he saw Myrtle's body.

“What happened – that's what I want to know!”

“Auto hit her. Instantly killed. She ran out in a road. Son-of-a-bitch didn't even stop the car.”

“I know what kind of car it was!”

Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend.

In a little while I saw that the tears were overflowing down his face.

“The coward!” he whimpered. “He didn't even stop his car.”

The Buchanans' house floated suddenly toward us through the dark trees. Tom stopped beside the porch.

I hadn't gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path.

“What are you doing?” I inquired.

“Just standing here, old sport.

Did you see any trouble on the road?” he asked after a minute.

“Yes.”

He hesitated.

“Was she killed?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the car in my garage. I don't think anybody saw us but of course I can't be sure. Who was the woman?” he inquired.

“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How did it happen? Was Daisy driving?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I'll say I was.

You see, when we left New York she was very nervous – and this woman rushed out… It all happened in a minute but it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were somebody she knew.”

Chapter 8

I couldn't sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incessantly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grotesque reality and savage frightening dreams.