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F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940) - page 29 / 51

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“It was a strange coincidence,” I said.

   “But it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

   “Why not?”

   “Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be just across the bay.”

   Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had aspired on that June night.  He came alive to me, delivered suddenly from the womb of his purposeless splendor.  (83)

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