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Gatsby in all of his anger could not look Nick in the eye, cowardly as he was. The words echoed within him--permeating through his mind in a raucous opera. The winter's night was a cruel one,one with a dusty snow that just barely covered once evergreen lawns. Nick was all he had left from that ancient summer, yet in a whiskey rage he lashed out, frustration from a lifetime of aching disappointment. A mid-afternoon conversation tragically descending into an argument so incoherent that Jay himself could not even remember how it all began beneath the now resting sun.