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Опубликовано08.11.2018 в 20:56АвторKajinos






Nightcore - Coming Down (With Lyrics!)

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald Chapter 7 It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night — and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over.

Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away.

1 Dec Lyrics for Coming Down by Five Finger Death Punch. It's caving in around me What I thought was solid ground I tried to look the other way But.

Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out — an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door. My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone.

Next day Gatsby called me on the phone. Daisy comes over quite often — in the afternoons. They used to run a small hotel. Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. 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 pocket-book slapped to the floor. Is it hot enough for you? That any one should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart!

In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life. 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. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete? Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone.

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. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: I happen to know about it.

As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth. Daisy looked around doubtfully. Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room. Did mother get powder on your old yellowy hair? Stand up now, and say — How-de-do. Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. You absolute little dream. The nurse took a step forward and held out her hand.

Gatsby took up his drink.

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We drank in long, greedy swallows. On the green Sound, stagnant in the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles. With an effort she glanced down at the table. She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw.

His mouth opened a little, and he looked at Gatsby, and then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly.

Gatsby turned to me rigidly: 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. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. He looked at the gauge. You can buy anything at a drug-store nowadays. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss.

He wears a pink suit. Then as Doctor T. After a moment the proprietor emerged from the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car. In the sunlight his face was green. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go West.

He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before — and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty — as if he had just got some poor girl with child. Over the ashheaps the giant eyes of Doctor T.

Eckleburg kept their vigil, but I perceived, after a moment, that other eyes were regarding us with peculiar intensity from less than twenty feet away. In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved aside a little, and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car.

So engrossed was she that she had no consciousness of being observed, and one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture. There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping precipitately from his control. Instinct made him step on the accelerator with the double purpose of overtaking Daisy and leaving Wilson behind, and we sped along toward Astoria at fifty miles an hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in sight of the easy-going blue coupe.

I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel. 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.

Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep. Who was it fainted, Tom? And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to get out.

Coming Down - Traduzione in Italiano - Five Finger Death Punch - Testo Canzone - LYRICS - It's caving in around me / What I thought was solid .

The day after he left Daddy died. I knew his whole family history before he left. He gave me an aluminum putter that I use to-day. He came down in the private car. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.

This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last. But we were all looking at Gatsby. Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table. Look at the mint! Gatsby one more question. Please have a little self-control. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. The transition from libertine to prig was so complete. But Daisy guessed at his intention. Nobody wants a drink.

Gatsby has to tell me. Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me! I want to hear all about it. I used to laugh sometimes. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing — and as though she had never, all along, intended doing anything at all.

But it was done now.

The Great Gatsby, by F.


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Mix - Five Finger Death Punch - Coming Down


It's caving in around me / What I thought was...

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