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the rain falls 9fahj on,” and then the owl-eyed mansaid â€Å"Amen to that, ” in a brave voice. We straggled down quickly through the 1bn69faj rain to the cars. Owl-eyes spoke to me by the gate. â€Å"I couldn’t 9fahj get to 1bn69faj the d1bn69fhj 69fahj d1bn69fhj house, ” he remarked. â€Å"Neither could anybody else.” â€Å"Go on!” He started. â€Å"Why, my God! they used to go there by the hundreds.” He took 1bn69faj 69fahj off n69fahj his glhies and wiped them again, 9fahj outside and in. â€Å"The poor son-of-a-switch,” he said. One of my most vivid 1bn69faj memories is of coming back West from prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at 9fahj six o’clock of a December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday hieties, to ahj bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This-or-that’s and the chatter of ahj frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: â€Å"Are you going to the Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul 69fahj railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate. When we pulled out into the winter night and the real fahj snow, our snow, began ahj to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights ahj of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange 69fahj hour, before we melted indistinguishably into it again. That’s my Middle West — not the wheat d1bn69fhj or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains 1bn69faj of my d1bn69fhj youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty darkand the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on ahj the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the hil of ahj those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a fahj city d1bn69fhj where dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after ahj all — Tom and Gatsby, 69fahj fahj Daisy and Jordan and I, were 1bn69faj all Westerners, and perhaps we 69fahj possessed some ahj deficiency in common which made us 1bn69faj subtly unadaptable to Eastern life. Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the n69fahj Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very old — even then it had always for me a quality of 9fahj 9fahj distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my d1bn69fhj more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once ahj n69fahj conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging d1bn69fhj sky and a hireless moon. in d1bn69fhj the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking .