He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf muttering that if one brick was removed the whole library was able to collapse. 'Who brought you?' he demanded.
'Or did you just come? I was brought. Most people were brought.' Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully, without answering.
'I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,' he continued. 'Mrs Claud Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I've been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.'
'Has it?'
'A little bit, I think. I can't tell yet. I've only been here an hour. Did I tell you about the books? They're real. They're -'
'You told us.'
We shook hands with him gravely and went back outdoors.
There was dancing now on the canvas in the garden (…)
[F.Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, Penguin, p.52, chapter III]
