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Forty-second Street at noon
Roaring noon. In a well-fanned Forty-second Street cellar I met Gatsby for lunch. Blinking away the brightness of the street outside, my eyes picked him out obscurely in the anteroom, talking to another man.
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Tiny eyes in half-darkness
A small, flat-nosed Jew raised his large head and regarded me with two fine growths of hair which luxuriated in either nostril. After a moment I discovered his tiny eyes in the half-darkness.
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A business gonnegtion
“Five, with Becker.” His nostrils turned to me in an interested way. “I understand you’re looking for a business gonnegtion.”
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Fixed the World's Series
“Meyer Wolfshiem? No, he’s a gambler.” Gatsby hesitated, then added, coolly: “He’s the man who fixed the World’s Series back in 1919.”
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The idea staggered me
The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the World’s Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I had thought of it at all I would have thought of it as a thing that merely happened, the end of some inevitable chain. It never occurred to me that one man could start to play with the faith of fifty million people—with the single-mindedness of a burglar blowing a safe.
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Strained handshake
They shook hands briefly, and a strained, unfamiliar look of embarrassment came over Gatsby’s face.
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Chapter 7
Lunch with Wolfshiem, Tom, and a Vanishing
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