(no subject)
he was silent, and i guessed at his unutterable depression.
“i feel far away from her.” he said. “it’s hard to make her understand.”
“you mean about the dance?”
“the dance?” he dismissed all the dances he had given with a snap of his fingers. “old sport, the dance is unimportant.”
he wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to tom and say: “i never loved you.” after she had obliterated four years with that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be taken. one of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back to Louisville and be married from her house-just as if it were five years ago.
“and she doesn’t understand,” he said. “she used to be able to understand. we’d sit for hours-”
he broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers.
“i wouldn’t ask too much of her,” i ventured. “you can’t repeat the past.”
“can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “why of course you can!”
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.