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@@ -143,7 +143,7 @@
 			<p>“I beg your pardon,” said <abbr>Mr.</abbr> McKee with dignity, “I didn’t know I was touching it.”</p>
 			<p>“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”</p>
 			<p>… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfolio in his hands.</p>
-			<p>“Beauty and the Beast … Loneliness … Old Grocery Horse … Brook’n Bridge …”</p>
+			<p>“Beauty and the Beast⁠ ⁠… Loneliness⁠ ⁠… Old Grocery Horse⁠ ⁠… Brook’n Bridge⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning <i epub:type="se:name.publication.newspaper">Tribune</i>, and waiting for the four o’clock train.</p>
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@@ -122,14 +122,14 @@
 			<p>Jordan’s party were calling impatiently to her from the porch, but she lingered for a moment to shake hands.</p>
 			<p>“I’ve just heard the most amazing thing,” she whispered. “How long were we in there?”</p>
 			<p>“Why, about an hour.”</p>
-			<p>“It was … simply amazing,” she repeated abstractedly. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully in my face. “Please come and see me … Phone book … Under the name of <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Sigourney Howard … My aunt …” She was hurrying off as she talked⁠—her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her party at the door.</p>
+			<p>“It was⁠ ⁠… simply amazing,” she repeated abstractedly. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully in my face. “Please come and see me⁠ ⁠… Phone book⁠ ⁠… Under the name of <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Sigourney Howard⁠ ⁠… My aunt⁠ ⁠…” She was hurrying off as she talked⁠—her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her party at the door.</p>
 			<p>Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to apologize for not having known him in the garden.</p>
 			<p>“Don’t mention it,” he enjoined me eagerly. “Don’t give it another thought, old sport.” The familiar expression held no more familiarity than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. “And don’t forget we’re going up in the hydroplane tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock.”</p>
 			<p>Then the butler, behind his shoulder:</p>
 			<p>“Philadelphia wants you on the phone, sir.”</p>
-			<p>“All right, in a minute. Tell them I’ll be right there … Good night.”</p>
+			<p>“All right, in a minute. Tell them I’ll be right there⁠ ⁠… Good night.”</p>
 			<p>“Good night.”</p>
-			<p>“Good night.” He smiled⁠—and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired it all the time. “Good night, old sport … Good night.”</p>
+			<p>“Good night.” He smiled⁠—and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired it all the time. “Good night, old sport⁠ ⁠… Good night.”</p>
 			<p>But as I walked down the steps I saw that the evening was not quite over. Fifty feet from the door a dozen headlights illuminated a bizarre and tumultuous scene. In the ditch beside the road, right side up, but violently shorn of one wheel, rested a new coupé which had left Gatsby’s drive not two minutes before. The sharp jut of a wall accounted for the detachment of the wheel, which was now getting considerable attention from half a dozen curious chauffeurs. However, as they had left their cars blocking the road, a harsh, discordant din from those in the rear had been audible for some time, and added to the already violent confusion of the scene.</p>
 			<p>A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in the middle of the road, looking from the car to the tyre and from the tyre to the observers in a pleasant, puzzled way.</p>
 			<p>“See!” he explained. “It went in the ditch.”</p>

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@@ -65,7 +65,7 @@
 			<p>“I was able to do the commissioner a favour once, and he sends me a Christmas card every year.”</p>
 			<p>Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of nonolfactory money. The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.</p>
 			<p>A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms, followed by two carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheerful carriages for friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of Gatsby’s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we crossed Blackwell’s Island a limousine passed us, driven by a white chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in haughty rivalry.</p>
-			<p>“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; “anything at all …”</p>
+			<p>“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; “anything at all⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>Even Gatsby could happen, without any particular wonder.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>Roaring noon. In a well-fanned Forty-second Street cellar I met Gatsby for lunch. Blinking away the brightness of the street outside, my eyes picked him out obscurely in the anteroom, talking to another man.</p>
@@ -156,7 +156,7 @@
 			<p>She began to cry⁠—she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her mother’s maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. She wouldn’t let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up in a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.</p>
 			<p>But she didn’t say another word. We gave her spirits of ammonia and put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five o’clock she married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a three months’ trip to the South Seas.</p>
 			<p>I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I thought I’d never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a minute she’d look around uneasily, and say: “Where’s Tom gone?” and wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together⁠—it made you laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got into the papers, too, because her arm was broken⁠—she was one of the chambermaids in the Santa Barbara Hotel.</p>
-			<p>The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect reputation. Perhaps because she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don’t see or care. Perhaps Daisy never went in for amour at all⁠—and yet there’s something in that voice of hers …</p>
+			<p>The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect reputation. Perhaps because she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don’t see or care. Perhaps Daisy never went in for amour at all⁠—and yet there’s something in that voice of hers⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first time in years. It was when I asked you⁠—do you remember?⁠—if you knew Gatsby in West Egg. After you had gone home she came into my room and woke me up, and said: “What Gatsby?” and when I described him⁠—I was half asleep⁠—she said in the strangest voice that it must be the man she used to know. It wasn’t until then that I connected this Gatsby with the officer in her white car.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>When Jordan Baker had finished telling all this we had left the Plaza for half an hour and were driving in a victoria through Central Park. The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the clear voices of children, already gathered like crickets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight:</p>

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@@ -139,7 +139,7 @@
 			<p>“I adore it,” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour⁠—or a yacht.”</p>
 			<p>“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s a lot of clippings⁠—about you.”</p>
 			<p>They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver.</p>
-			<p>“Yes … Well, I can’t talk now … I can’t talk now, old sport … I said a <em>small</em> town … He must know what a small town is … Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town …”</p>
+			<p>“Yes⁠ ⁠… Well, I can’t talk now⁠ ⁠… I can’t talk now, old sport⁠ ⁠… I said a <em>small</em> town⁠ ⁠… He must know what a small town is⁠ ⁠… Well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>He rang off.</p>
 			<p>“Come here <em>quick</em>!” cried Daisy at the window.</p>
 			<p>The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.</p>
@@ -148,7 +148,7 @@
 			<p>“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll have Klipspringer play the piano.”</p>
 			<p>He went out of the room calling “Ewing!” and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently clothed in a “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.</p>
 			<p>“Did we interrupt your exercise?” inquired Daisy politely.</p>
-			<p>“I was asleep,” cried <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. “That is, I’d <em>been</em> asleep. Then I got up …”</p>
+			<p>“I was asleep,” cried <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Klipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment. “That is, I’d <em>been</em> asleep. Then I got up⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>“Klipspringer plays the piano,” said Gatsby, cutting him off. “Don’t you, Ewing, old sport?”</p>
 			<p>“I don’t play well. I don’t⁠—hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“We’ll go downstairs,” interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The grey windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.</p>

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@@ -30,7 +30,7 @@
 			<p>“I’m delighted to see you,” said Gatsby, standing on his porch. “I’m delighted that you dropped in.”</p>
 			<p>As though they cared!</p>
 			<p>“Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.” He walked around the room quickly, ringing bells. “I’ll have something to drink for you in just a minute.”</p>
-			<p>He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Sloane wanted nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks … I’m sorry⁠—</p>
+			<p>He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Sloane wanted nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks⁠ ⁠… I’m sorry⁠—</p>
 			<p>“Did you have a nice ride?”</p>
 			<p>“Very good roads around here.”</p>
 			<p>“I suppose the automobiles⁠—”</p>
@@ -80,7 +80,7 @@
 			<p>“She’s lovely,” said Daisy.</p>
 			<p>“The man bending over her is her director.”</p>
 			<p>He took them ceremoniously from group to group:</p>
-			<p>“<abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Buchanan … and <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Buchanan⁠—” After an instant’s hesitation he added: “the polo player.”</p>
+			<p>“<abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Buchanan⁠ ⁠… and <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Buchanan⁠—” After an instant’s hesitation he added: “the polo player.”</p>
 			<p>“Oh no,” objected Tom quickly, “not me.”</p>
 			<p>But evidently the sound of it pleased Gatsby for Tom remained “the polo player” for the rest of the evening.</p>
 			<p>“I’ve never met so many celebrities,” Daisy exclaimed. “I liked that man⁠—what was his name?⁠—with the sort of blue nose.”</p>
@@ -89,7 +89,7 @@
 			<p>“I’d a little rather not be the polo player,” said Tom pleasantly, “I’d rather look at all these famous people in⁠—in oblivion.”</p>
 			<p>Daisy and Gatsby danced. I remember being surprised by his graceful, conservative foxtrot⁠—I had never seen him dance before. Then they sauntered over to my house and sat on the steps for half an hour, while at her request I remained watchfully in the garden. “In case there’s a fire or a flood,” she explained, “or any act of God.”</p>
 			<p>Tom appeared from his oblivion as we were sitting down to supper together. “Do you mind if I eat with some people over here?” he said. “A fellow’s getting off some funny stuff.”</p>
-			<p>“Go ahead,” answered Daisy genially, “and if you want to take down any addresses here’s my little gold pencil.” … She looked around after a moment and told me the girl was “common but pretty,” and I knew that except for the half-hour she’d been alone with Gatsby she wasn’t having a good time.</p>
+			<p>“Go ahead,” answered Daisy genially, “and if you want to take down any addresses here’s my little gold pencil.”⁠ ⁠… She looked around after a moment and told me the girl was “common but pretty,” and I knew that except for the half-hour she’d been alone with Gatsby she wasn’t having a good time.</p>
 			<p>We were at a particularly tipsy table. That was my fault⁠—Gatsby had been called to the phone, and I’d enjoyed these same people only two weeks before. But what had amused me then turned septic on the air now.</p>
 			<p>“How do you feel, Miss Baedeker?”</p>
 			<p>The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my shoulder. At this inquiry she sat up and opened her eyes.</p>
@@ -140,7 +140,7 @@
 			<p>“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!”</p>
 			<p>He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.</p>
 			<p>“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he said, nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.”</p>
-			<p>He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was …</p>
+			<p>He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>… One autumn night, five years before, they had been walking down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned toward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the darkness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the sidewalks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees⁠—he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the incomparable milk of wonder.</p>
 			<p>His heart beat faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.</p>
 			<p>Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimentality, I was reminded of something⁠—an elusive rhythm, a fragment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was uncommunicable forever.</p>

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@@ -29,11 +29,11 @@
 			<p>The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering hush at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her pocketbook slapped to the floor.</p>
 			<p>“Oh, my!” she gasped.</p>
 			<p>I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it at arm’s length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that I had no designs upon it⁠—but everyone near by, including the woman, suspected me just the same.</p>
-			<p>“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather! … Hot! … Hot! … Hot! … Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it … ?”</p>
+			<p>“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather!⁠ ⁠… Hot!⁠ ⁠… Hot!⁠ ⁠… Hot!⁠ ⁠… Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it⁠ ⁠… ?”</p>
 			<p>My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. That anyone should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pyjama pocket over his heart!</p>
 			<p>… Through the hall of the Buchanans’ house blew a faint wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at the door.</p>
 			<p>“The master’s body?” roared the butler into the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, madame, but we can’t furnish it⁠—it’s far too hot to touch this noon!”</p>
-			<p>What he really said was: “Yes … Yes … I’ll see.”</p>
+			<p>What he really said was: “Yes⁠ ⁠… Yes⁠ ⁠… I’ll see.”</p>
 			<p>He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to take our stiff straw hats.</p>
 			<p>“Madame expects you in the salon!” he cried, needlessly indicating the direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life.</p>
 			<p>The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans.</p>
@@ -43,11 +43,11 @@
 			<p>Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone.</p>
 			<p>Gatsby stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air.</p>
 			<p>“The rumour is,” whispered Jordan, “that that’s Tom’s girl on the telephone.”</p>
-			<p>We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: “Very well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all … I’m under no obligations to you at all … and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!”</p>
+			<p>We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: “Very well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all⁠ ⁠… I’m under no obligations to you at all⁠ ⁠… and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!”</p>
 			<p>“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically.</p>
 			<p>“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it.”</p>
 			<p>Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.</p>
-			<p>“<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir … Nick …”</p>
+			<p>“<abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir⁠ ⁠… Nick⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy.</p>
 			<p>As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth.</p>
 			<p>“You know I love you,” she murmured.</p>
@@ -112,7 +112,7 @@
 			<p>“I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.”</p>
 			<p>“She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of⁠—” I hesitated.</p>
 			<p>“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.</p>
-			<p>That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money⁠—that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it … High in a white palace the king’s daughter, the golden girl …</p>
+			<p>That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money⁠—that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it⁠ ⁠… High in a white palace the king’s daughter, the golden girl⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and carrying light capes over their arms.</p>
 			<p>“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.”</p>
 			<p>“Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom.</p>
@@ -180,7 +180,7 @@
 			<p>“We can’t argue about it here,” Tom said impatiently, as a truck gave out a cursing whistle behind us. “You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza.”</p>
 			<p>Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side-street and out of his life forever.</p>
 			<p>But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging the parlour of a suite in the Plaza Hotel.</p>
-			<p>The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as “a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it was a “crazy idea”⁠—we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny …</p>
+			<p>The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as “a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it was a “crazy idea”⁠—we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four o’clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.</p>
 			<p>“It’s a swell suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully, and everyone laughed.</p>
 			<p>“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around.</p>
@@ -230,13 +230,13 @@
 			<p>“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the armistice,” he continued. “We could go to any of the universities in England or France.”</p>
 			<p>I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before.</p>
 			<p>Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.</p>
-			<p>“Open the whisky, Tom,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself … Look at the mint!”</p>
+			<p>“Open the whisky, Tom,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself⁠ ⁠… Look at the mint!”</p>
 			<p>“Wait a minute,” snapped Tom, “I want to ask <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gatsby one more question.”</p>
 			<p>“Go on,” Gatsby said politely.</p>
 			<p>“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”</p>
 			<p>They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content.</p>
 			<p>“He isn’t causing a row,” Daisy looked desperately from one to the other. “You’re causing a row. Please have a little self-control.”</p>
-			<p>“Self-control!” repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out … Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.”</p>
+			<p>“Self-control!” repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out⁠ ⁠… Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.”</p>
 			<p>Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization.</p>
 			<p>“We’re all white here,” murmured Jordan.</p>
 			<p>“I know I’m not very popular. I don’t give big parties. I suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends⁠—in the modern world.”</p>
@@ -269,7 +269,7 @@
 			<p>“Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly.</p>
 			<p>“No.”</p>
 			<p>From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were drifting up on hot waves of air.</p>
-			<p>“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone … “Daisy?”</p>
+			<p>“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone⁠ ⁠… “Daisy?”</p>
 			<p>“Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. “There, Jay,” she said⁠—but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet.</p>
 			<p>“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now⁠—isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him once⁠—but I loved you too.”</p>
 			<p>Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.</p>
@@ -308,12 +308,12 @@
 			<p>“Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over.”</p>
 			<p>They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated, like ghosts, even from our pity.</p>
 			<p>After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whisky in the towel.</p>
-			<p>“Want any of this stuff? Jordan? … Nick?”</p>
+			<p>“Want any of this stuff? Jordan?⁠ ⁠… Nick?”</p>
 			<p>I didn’t answer.</p>
 			<p>“Nick?” He asked again.</p>
 			<p>“What?”</p>
 			<p>“Want any?”</p>
-			<p>“No … I just remembered that today’s my birthday.”</p>
+			<p>“No⁠ ⁠… I just remembered that today’s my birthday.”</p>
 			<p>I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.</p>
 			<p>It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupé with him and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamour on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty⁠—the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning briefcase of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.</p>
 			<p>So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.</p>
@@ -338,7 +338,7 @@
 			<p>Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on a worktable by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage⁠—then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, horrible call:</p>
 			<p>“Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od!”</p>
 			<p>Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and, after staring around the garage with glazed eyes, addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to the policeman.</p>
-			<p>“M-a-v—” the policeman was saying, “⁠—o⁠—”</p>
+			<p>“M-a-v⁠—” the policeman was saying, “⁠—o⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“No, r⁠—” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely.</p>
 			<p>“r⁠—” said the policeman, “o⁠—”</p>
@@ -366,7 +366,7 @@
 			<p>“Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we’ve been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine⁠—do you hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.”</p>
 			<p>Only the negro and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent eyes.</p>
 			<p>“What’s all that?” he demanded.</p>
-			<p>“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it … It was a yellow car.”</p>
+			<p>“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it⁠ ⁠… It was a yellow car.”</p>
 			<p>Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.</p>
 			<p>“And what colour’s your car?”</p>
 			<p>“It’s a blue car, a coupé.”</p>

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@@ -23,7 +23,7 @@
 			<p>But he didn’t despise himself and it didn’t turn out as he had imagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go⁠—but now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize just how extraordinary a “nice” girl could be. She vanished into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby⁠—nothing. He felt married to her, that was all.</p>
 			<p>When they met again, two days later, it was Gatsby who was breathless, who was, somehow, betrayed. Her porch was bright with the bought luxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth. She had caught a cold, and it made her voice huskier and more charming than ever, and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor.</p>
 			<hr/>
-			<p>“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her … Well, there I was, ’way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?”</p>
+			<p>“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her⁠ ⁠… Well, there I was, ’way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?”</p>
 			<p>On the last afternoon before he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day, with fire in the room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The afternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer in their month of love, nor communicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he went to the front, and following the Argonne battles he got his majority and the command of the divisional machine-guns. After the armistice he tried frantically to get home, but some complication or misunderstanding sent him to Oxford instead. He was worried now⁠—there was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see why he couldn’t come. She was feeling the pressure of the world outside, and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all.</p>
@@ -124,7 +124,7 @@
 			<hr/>
 			<p>At two o’clock Gatsby put on his bathing-suit and left word with the butler that if anyone phoned word was to be brought to him at the pool. He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him to pump it up. Then he gave instructions that the open car wasn’t to be taken out under any circumstances⁠—and this was strange, because the front right fender needed repair.</p>
 			<p>Gatsby shouldered the mattress and started for the pool. Once he stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among the yellowing trees.</p>
-			<p>No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o’clock⁠—until long after there was anyone to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about … like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.</p>
+			<p>No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o’clock⁠—until long after there was anyone to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without being real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about⁠ ⁠… like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding toward him through the amorphous trees.</p>
 			<p>The chauffeur⁠—he was one of Wolfshiem’s protégés⁠—heard the shots⁠—afterwards he could only say that he hadn’t thought anything much about them. I drove from the station directly to Gatsby’s house and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that alarmed anyone. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener, and I hurried down to the pool.</p>
 			<p>There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. With little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental course with its accidental burden. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of transit, a thin red circle in the water.</p>
 			<p>It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener saw Wilson’s body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was complete.</p>

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@@ -40,13 +40,13 @@
 				<p epub:type="z3998:postscript">Let me know about the funeral etc do not know his family at all.</p>
 			</blockquote>
 			<p>When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said Chicago was calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came through as a man’s voice, very thin and far away.</p>
-			<p>“This is Slagle speaking …”</p>
+			<p>“This is Slagle speaking⁠ ⁠…”</p>
 			<p>“Yes?” The name was unfamiliar.</p>
 			<p>“Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?”</p>
 			<p>“There haven’t been any wires.”</p>
 			<p>“Young Parke’s in trouble,” he said rapidly. “They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a circular from New York giving ’em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns⁠—”</p>
 			<p>“Hello!” I interrupted breathlessly. “Look here⁠—this isn’t <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gatsby. <abbr>Mr.</abbr> Gatsby’s dead.”</p>
-			<p>There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by an exclamation … then a quick squawk as the connection was broken.</p>
+			<p>There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, followed by an exclamation⁠ ⁠… then a quick squawk as the connection was broken.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>I think it was on the third day that a telegram signed Henry <abbr class="name">C.</abbr> Gatz arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was leaving immediately and to postpone the funeral until he came.</p>
 			<p>It was Gatsby’s father, a solemn old man, very helpless and dismayed, bundled up in a long cheap ulster against the warm September day. His eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the bag and umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse grey beard that I had difficulty in getting off his coat. He was on the point of collapse, so I took him into the music-room and made him sit down while I sent for something to eat. But he wouldn’t eat, and the glass of milk spilled from his trembling hand.</p>
@@ -103,7 +103,7 @@
 			<p>“Did you start him in business?” I inquired.</p>
 			<p>“Start him! I made him.”</p>
 			<p>“Oh.”</p>
-			<p>“I raised him up out of nothing, right out of the gutter. I saw right away he was a fine-appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I got him to join the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did some work for a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like that in everything”—he held up two bulbous fingers⁠—“always together.”</p>
+			<p>“I raised him up out of nothing, right out of the gutter. I saw right away he was a fine-appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I got him to join the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did some work for a client of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like that in everything”⁠—he held up two bulbous fingers⁠—“always together.”</p>
 			<p>I wondered if this partnership had included the World’s Series transaction in 1919.</p>
 			<p>“Now he’s dead,” I said after a moment. “You were his closest friend, so I know you’ll want to come to his funeral this afternoon.”</p>
 			<p>“I’d like to come.”</p>
@@ -218,7 +218,7 @@
 			<p>She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the colour of an autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn’t making a mistake, then I thought it all over again quickly and got up to say goodbye.</p>
 			<p>“Nevertheless you did throw me over,” said Jordan suddenly. “You threw me over on the telephone. I don’t give a damn about you now, but it was a new experience for me, and I felt a little dizzy for a while.”</p>
 			<p>We shook hands.</p>
-			<p>“Oh, and do you remember”—she added⁠—“a conversation we had once about driving a car?”</p>
+			<p>“Oh, and do you remember”⁠—she added⁠—“a conversation we had once about driving a car?”</p>
 			<p>“Why⁠—not exactly.”</p>
 			<p>“You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride.”</p>
 			<p>“I’m thirty,” I said. “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honour.”</p>
@@ -233,7 +233,7 @@
 			<p>“I told him the truth,” he said. “He came to the door while we were getting ready to leave, and when I sent down word that we weren’t in he tried to force his way upstairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if I hadn’t told him who owned the car. His hand was on a revolver in his pocket every minute he was in the house⁠—” He broke off defiantly. “What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s, but he was a tough one. He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even stopped his car.”</p>
 			<p>There was nothing I could say, except the one unutterable fact that it wasn’t true.</p>
 			<p>“And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering⁠—look here, when I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits sitting there on the sideboard, I sat down and cried like a baby. By God it was awful⁠—”</p>
-			<p>I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy⁠—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made …</p>
+			<p>I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy⁠—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made⁠ ⁠…</p>
 			<p>I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I felt suddenly as though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewellery store to buy a pearl necklace⁠—or perhaps only a pair of cuff buttons⁠—rid of my provincial squeamishness forever.</p>
 			<hr/>
 			<p>Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left⁠—the grass on his lawn had grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never took a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg the night of the accident, and perhaps he had made a story about it all his own. I didn’t want to hear it and I avoided him when I got off the train.</p>
@@ -241,7 +241,7 @@
 			<p>On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand.</p>
 			<p>Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sailors’ eyes⁠—a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.</p>
 			<p>And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.</p>
-			<p>Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter⁠—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further … And one fine morning⁠—</p>
+			<p>Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter⁠—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further⁠ ⁠… And one fine morning⁠—</p>
 			<p>So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.</p>
 		</section>
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