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ehaddrunkaquantityofchampagne,andduringthecourseofhersongshehaddecided,ineptly,thateverythingwasvery,verysad—shewasnotonlysinging,shewasweepingtoo.Whenevertherewasapauseinthesongshefilleditwithgasping,brokensobs,andthentookupthelyricagaininaquaveringsoprano.Thetearscourseddownhercheeks—notfreely,however,forwhentheycameintocontactwithherheavilybeadedeyelashestheyassumedaninkycolour,andpursuedtherestoftheirwayinslowblackrivulets.Ahumoroussuggestionwasmadethatshesingthenotesonherface,whereuponshethrewupherhands,sankintoachair,andwentoffintoadeepvinoussleep. “Shehadafightwithamanwhosayshe’sherhusband,”explainedagirlatmyelbow. Ilookedaround.Mostoftheremainingwomenwerenowhavingfightswithmensaidtobetheirhusbands.EvenJordan’sparty,thequartetfromEastEgg,wererentasunderbydissension.Oneofthemenwastalkingwithcuriousintensitytoayoungactress,andhiswife,afterattemptingtolaughatthesituationinadignifiedandindifferentway,brokedownentirelyandresortedtoflankattacks—atintervalssheappearedsuddenlyathissidelikeanangrydiamond,andhissed:“Youpromised!”intohisear. Thereluctancetogohomewasnotconfinedtowaywardmen.Thehallwasatpresentoccupiedbytwodeplorablysobermenandtheirhighlyindignantwives.Thewivesweresympathizingwitheachotherinslightlyraisedvoices. “WheneverheseesI’mhavingagoodtimehewantstogohome.” “Neverheardanythingsoselfishinmylife.” “We’realwaysthefirstonestoleave.” “Soarewe.” “Well,we’realmostthelasttonight,”saidoneofthemensheepishly.“Theorchestralefthalfanhourago.” Inspiteofthewives’agreementthatsuchmalevolencewasbeyondcredibility,thedisputeendedinashortstruggle,andbothwiveswerelifted,kicking,intothenight. AsIwaitedformyhatinthehallthedoorofthelibraryopenedandJordanBakerandGatsbycameouttogether.Hewassayingsomelastwordtoher,buttheeagernessinhismannertightenedabruptlyintoformalityasseveralpeopleapproachedhimtosaygoodbye. Jordan’spartywerecallingimpatientlytoherfromtheporch,butshelingeredforamomenttoshakehands. “I’vejustheardthemostamazingthing,”shewhispered.“Howlongwereweinthere?” “Why,aboutanhour.” “Itwas…simplyamazing,”sherepeatedabstractedly.“ButIsworeIwouldn’ttellitandhereIamtantalizingyou.”Sheyawnedgracefullyinmyface.“Pleasecomeandseeme…Phonebook…UnderthenameofMrs.SigourneyHoward…Myaunt…”Shewashurryingoffasshetalked—herbrownhandwavedajauntysaluteasshemeltedintoherpartyatthedoor. RatherashamedthatonmyfirstappearanceIhadstayedsolate,IjoinedthelastofGatsby’sguests,whowereclusteredaroundhim.IwantedtoexplainthatI’dhuntedforhimearlyintheeveningandtoapologizefornothavingknownhiminthegarden. “Don’tmentionit,”heenjoinedmeeagerly.“Don’tgiveitanotherthought,oldsport.”Thefamiliarexpressionheldnomorefamiliaritythanthehandwhichreassuringlybrushedmyshoulder.“Anddon’tforgetwe’regoingupinthehydroplanetomorrowmorning,atnineo’clock.” Thenthebutler,behindhisshoulder: “Philadelphiawantsyouonthephone,sir.” “Allright,inaminute.TellthemI’llberightthere…Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” “Goodnight.”Hesmiled—andsuddenlythereseemedtobeapleasantsignificanceinhavingbeenamongthelasttogo,asifhehaddesireditallthetime.“Goodnight,oldsport…Goodnight.” ButasIwalkeddownthestepsIsawthattheeveningwasnotquiteover.Fiftyfeetfromthedooradozenheadlightsilluminatedabizarreandtumultuousscene.Intheditchbesidetheroad,rightsideup,butviolentlyshornofonewheel,restedanewcoupéwhichhadleftGatsby’sdrivenottwominutesbefore.Thesharpjutofawallaccountedforthedetachmentofthewheel,whichwasnowgettingconsiderableattentionfromhalfadozencuriouschauffeurs.However,astheyhadlefttheircarsblockingtheroad,aharsh,discordantdinfromthoseintherearhadbeenaudibleforsometime,andaddedtothealreadyviolentconfusionofthescene. Amaninalongdusterhaddismountedfromthewreckandnowstoodinthemiddleoftheroad,lookingfromthecartothetyreandfromthetyretotheobserversinapleasant,puzzledway. “See!”heexplained.“Itwentintheditch.” Thefactwasinfinitelyastonishingtohim,andIrecognizedfirsttheunusualqualityofwonder,andthentheman—itwasthelatepatronofGatsby’slibrary. “How’dithappen?” Heshruggedhisshoulders. “Iknownothingwhateveraboutmechanics,”hesaiddecisively. “Buthowdidithappen?Didyourunintothewall?” “Don’taskme,”saidOwlEyes,washinghishandsofthewholematter.“Iknowverylittleaboutdriving—nexttonothing.Ithappened,andthat’sallIknow.” “Well,ifyou’reapoordriveryououghtn’ttotrydrivingatnight.” “ButIwasn’teventrying,”heexplainedindignantly,“Iwasn’teventrying.” Anawedhushfelluponthebystanders. “Doyouwanttocommitsuicide?” “You’reluckyitwasjustawheel!Abaddriverandnoteventrying!” “Youdon’tunderstand,”explainedthecriminal.“Iwasn’tdriving.There’sanothermaninthecar.” Theshockthatfollowedthisdeclarationfoundvoiceinasustained“Ah-h-h!”asthedoorofthecoupéswungslowlyopen.Thecrowd—itwasnowacrowd—steppedbackinvoluntarily,andwhenthedoorhadopenedwidetherewasaghostlypause.Then,verygradually,partbypart,apale,danglingindividualsteppedoutofthewreck,pawingtentativelyatthegroundwithalargeuncertaindancingshoe. Blindedbytheglareoftheheadlightsandconfusedbytheincessantgroaningofthehorns,theapparitionstoodswayingforamomentbeforeheperceivedthemanintheduster. “Wha’smatter?”heinquiredcalmly.“Didwerunoutagas?” “Look!” Halfadozenfingerspointedattheamputatedwheel—hestaredatitforamoment,andthenlookedupwardasthoughhesuspectedthatithaddroppedfromthesky. “Itcameoff,”someoneexplained. Henodded. “AtfirstIdin’noticewe’dstopped.” Apause.Then,takingalongbreathandstraighteninghisshoulders,heremarkedinadeter