Gatsby created a life for himself, one in which the people would circle around him, never quite getting to know him. They would always be a little on the outside, with many questions still running through their minds. He was the center of attention. Now the leaves, like the people, encircled the blood, like his life. The circle of blood was only a memory of Gatsby and who he was, yet the people's questions, like the leaves, never went away.

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©2003 a zach johnson original