Gatsby and Daisy

Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece. The clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head. He turned and caught it with trembling fingers and set it back in place. I'm sorry about the clock, he said. My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. It's an old clock. I told them idiotically. We haven't met for many years, said Daisy,. her voice as matter- fact as it could ever be. Five years next November.