We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance: “Very well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all⁠ ⁠… I’m under no obligations to you at all⁠ ⁠… and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!”

“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically.

“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it.”

Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.

“ Mr. Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir⁠ ⁠… Nick⁠ ⁠…”

“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy.

As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth.