The Green Light That Burns All Night

Gatsby's count of enchanted objects had diminished by one. A large photograph of an elderly man in yodding costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk. The phone rang and Gatsby took up the receiver. He was no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town. I tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it. Perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.