"[Jordan’s] gray, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she had
deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved
her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as
brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself
definitely out of that tangle back home. I’d been writing letters once a
week and signing them: "Love, Nick," and all I could think of was how,
when that certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration
appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague understanding
that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free."
F. Scott Fitzgerald - The Great Gatsby (p. 169)
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