Who with?

Who the hell is going to make any trouble?

The guards who had been holding him up dropped him.

I never met anyone of his class who remembered him.

“Yes,” Maera said, “and who will kill his bulls after he gets cogida?”

I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice.

Mrs. Smith, who was a very large clean woman, said Liz Coates was the neatest girl she’d ever seen.

It’s up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.

Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.

The Indian who was rowing them was working very hard, but the other boat moved further ahead in the mist all the time.

They walked up from the beach through a meadow that was soaking wet with dew, following the young Indian who carried a lantern.

There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked⁠—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.

Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction⁠—Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.

There was a certain inner comfort in knowing he could knock down anybody who was snooty to him, although, being very shy and a thoroughly nice boy, he never fought except in the gym.

I had a dog⁠—at least I had him for a few days until he ran away⁠—and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.

In 1919 he was traveling on the railroads in Italy, carrying a square of oilcloth from the headquarters of the party written in indelible pencil and saying here was a comrade who had suffered very much under the Whites in Budapest and requesting comrades to aid him in any way.

Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven⁠—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savours of anticlimax.

The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today.

Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing compulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.