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Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after seven. I was immediately struck by the number of young Englishmen dotted about; all well dressed, all looking a little hungry. I was sure that they were selling something: bonds or insurance or automobiles.

As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me.

I noticed Jordan Baker with two girls in yellow dresses.

She came out of the house and stood at the head of the marble steps, leaning a little backward and looking with contemptuous interest down into the garden.

“Hello!” I roared, advancing toward her. My voice seemed unnaturally loud across the garden.

“I thought I would meet you here,” she responded absently. “I remembered you lived next door to…”

“Hello!” the girls in yellow dresses cried together. “Sorry you didn't win.”

They were talking about the golf competition the week before.

“You don't know who we are,” said one of the girls in yellow, “but we met you here about a month ago.”

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