Practice Typing

Her glance left me and sought the lighted top of the steps, where Three OClock in the Morning, a neat, sad little waltz of that year, was drifting out the open door. After all, in the very casualness of Gatsbys party there were romantic possibilities totally absent from her world. What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside. What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours.