The room’s tall windows were open to the Sound, and I looked out over the water. From where I stood, I realized with some discomfort that I could easily see Gatsby’s mansion, the white walls gleaming even across the misty distance, the glittering gold beach and the pier that stretched out from it. He stands on that pier, I thought suddenly. He stands there, and he looks across the water, and he looks across the years to when she was his and when she will be his.
