[pɔ:tʃ] – n крыльцо
possess [pə'zes] – v обладать
prominent ['prɒmɪnənt] – adj выдающийся
resent [rɪ'zent] – v возмущаться
restless ['restləs] – adj беспокойный
rumor ['ru:mə] – n слух
stretch [stretʃ] – v тянуться
strict [strɪkt] – adj строгий
tense [tens] – adj напряженный
vulnerable ['vʌlnərəbl] – adj уязвимый
wander ['wɒndə] – v бродить
well-to-do [,weltə'du:] – adj состоятельный
Chapter 2
About halfway between West Egg and New York, there was an area known as the valley of ashes. It was a wasteland where ash seemed to grow like crops, forming monstrous hills and gardens. It was observed by the watchful eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. Doctor T. J. Eckleburg was some ophthalmologist who placed his advertisement on a billboard and, apparently, forgot about it later. Blue and gigantic, with enormous glasses, his eyes stayed above the desolate land. After many days under sun and rain, these eyes were now dull, but the gave the area an eeriepresence.
This dreary place is where I first encountered Tom Buchanan's mistress. The bridge over the small foul river that borders the valley often causes delays for trains. It was during one of them, when I was on a train to New York with Tom, that he suddenly insisted that I “meet his girl”. I was curious to see what she looked like, but I had absolutely no desire to meet her. Tom grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the train.
We walked back to a yellow brick building which housed a few businesses. One of them was a garage that belonged to George B. Wilson, a pale, spiritless man who looked full of hope as he greeted Tom. Tom started to ask him about cars to mask the true purpose of the visit.
Everyone got quiet when Myrtle Wilson, George's wife, descended the stairs. She was a plump woman in her mid-thirties and was glowing with vitality. Ignoring her husband, Myrtle immediately shook hands with Tom. “Get some chairs!” she instructed George and, while he was away, moved closer to Tom. He told her to get on the next train, and we left the garage. We were waiting for Myrtle when Tom spoke about his mistress again. “It's good for her to get away. Her husband thinks she is going to visit her sister. What a dumb man!”
Tom, Myrtle, and I got on a train, though Myrtle sat in a different train car to avoid drawing attention to their affair. When we arrived, Myrtle bought a magazine, some cream and perfume. “I want a dog for the apartment,” she said. The dog she got, not quite the police breed she wanted, excited her.
Although I tried to leave, we proceeded to a modest apartment that Tom had arranged for their secret meetings. It was small and over-furnished:the living room, for example, was crowded with heavy furniture, and the only decoration was a huge ugly-looking photograph. Soon Myrtle's sister, Catherine, joined us, along with the McKees, a peculiar couple from an apartment downstairs. Mr. McKee told me he was an artist, and I assumed he was the photographer who had made the terrible photograph on the wall.
“Do you live down on Long Island, too?” Catherine asked me.
“I live at West Egg.”
“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. It was hosted by a man named Gatsby. Do you know him?”
“I live next door to him,” I replied, surprising her.
“I'm scared of him,” she confessed, and changed the topic.
“Neither of them can stand the person they married,” Catherine whispered to me, “Tom's wife is the one keeping them apart. She's a Catholic and they don't believe in divorce. Anyway, when Tom and Myrtle get married, they will move away.”
Confused by the fact that Daisy was a Catholic, I tried to carry on with our chat. At the same time, the rest of the guests were discussing love and marriage. Myrtle regretted marrying George Wilson.
“No one forced you to do it,” her sister noted, “you were crazy about him.”
“I only married George because I thought he was a gentleman, but then I found out he had borrowed the suit for our wedding!”
Then, she sat down beside me and started sharing how she had first met Tom:it had happened on a train, and she was immediately captivated by his appearance and manners. They left the station together, which led to an affair that, for Myrtle, was an escape from her dull life with George Wilson.
The afternoon turned into evening. Myrtle's behaviour with Tom grew louder, and the nature of their relationship was now obvious to everyone present. I looked around. It was ten o'clock, and Mr. McKee was asleep. The little dog was sitting on a table, groaning from time to time.
It was almost midnight when Tom and Myrtle had an argument about whether or not Myrtle had the right to mention his wife.
“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!' Mrs. Wilson shouted, 'I'll say it whenever I want to! Daisy!”
With a quick movement of his hand, Tom hit her in the face, breaking her nose.
Mr. McKee awoke while his wife and Catherine were trying to help Myrtle. The bathroom floor was covered with bloody towels, and I could hear the arguing despite Myrtle's cries.
“Come to lunch some day,” Mr. McKee invited me as we were going down in an elevator.
“Where?” I asked curiously.
“Anywhere.”
affair [ə'feə] – n роман
ash [æʃ] – n пепел
assume [ə'sju:m] – v предполагать
breed [bri:d] – n порода
confess [kən'fes] – v признаваться
crop [krɒp] – n урожай
curious ['kjʊəriəs] – adj любопытный
descend [dɪ'send] – v спускаться
desolate ['desələt] – adj пустынный
drag [dræɡ] – v тащить
dreary ['drɪəri] – adj тоскливый
dumb [dʌm] – adj глупый
eerie ['ɪəri] – adj жуткий
force [fɔ:s] – v заставлять
foul