“What do you think of that? It's stopped raining.”

“I'm glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.

“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said, “I'd like to show her around.”

“You're sure you want me to come?”

“Absolutely, old sport.”

Daisy went upstairs to wash her face — too late I thought with humiliation of my towels — while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.

“My house looks well, doesn't it?” he demanded. “See how the whole front of it catches the light.”