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It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been made.
这种表情过去之后，他开始兴奋地和黛西说话，否认一切，为自己的名字辩护，反对那些没有提出的指控。
But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself,
但他每说一句话，她心里就越陷越深，
so he gave that up and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away,
所以他放弃了，唯有那死去的梦随着下午的消逝在继续奋斗，
trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.
试着去触摸那些不再能触摸到的东西，痛苦但并不绝望挣扎着，朝着房间那头那个迷失的声音走去。
The voice begged again to go.
那个声音又央求着要走。
"PLEASE, Tom! I can't stand this any more."
“求求你，汤姆！我再也受不了了。”
Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage she had had, were definitely gone.
她惊恐的眼睛告诉我，无论她有什么意图，无论她有什么勇气，都一定已经消失了。
"You two start on home, Daisy," said Tom. "In Mr. Gatsby's car."
“你们两个回家吧，黛西，”汤姆说。“坐盖茨比先生的车。”
She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous scorn.
她看着汤姆，大为惊恐，但汤姆却以宽宏大量的轻蔑坚持着。
"Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over."
“走吧。他不会惹你生气的。我想他意识到他那冒昧的轻浮已经结束了。”
They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated, like ghosts even from our pity.
他们走了，一句话也没说，就突然跑了出来，意外地、孤立地出现了，就像幽灵一样，甚至从我们的怜悯中消失了。
After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey in the towel.
过了一会儿，汤姆站了起来，开始用毛巾把那瓶没打开的威士忌包起来。
"Want any of this stuff? Jordan? . . . Nick?"
“来点儿吗？乔丹？尼克？”
I didn't answer.
我没有回答。
"Nick?" He asked again.
“尼克？”他又问了一遍。
"What?"
“什么?”
"Want any?"
“来点儿吗？”
"No . . . I just remembered that today's my birthday."
“不……我刚想起来今天是我的生日。”
I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous menacing road of a new decade.
我三十了。在我面前，是新十年的凶兆险恶的道路。
It was seven o'clock when we got into the coupé with him and started for Long Island.
当我们和他一起坐上小轿车前往长岛时，已是七点钟了。
Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead.
汤姆说个不停，兴高采烈，有说有笑，可是他的声音对乔丹和我就像人行道上的外来人的吵嚷声或头顶上高架桥上的喧闹声一样遥远。
Human sympathy has its limits and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind.
人类的同情是有限度的，我们乐于让他们所有的悲惨争论随着城市的灯光消逝。
Thirty--the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of
三十岁——十年的孤独，减少的单身男人名单，减弱的热情，稀少的头发。
But there was Jordan beside me who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age.
但我身边有乔丹，她与黛西不同，他太聪明了，不会把那些早已被人遗忘的梦想一年一年的还藏在心里。
