Tom Buchanan (The Great Gatsby)

The roguish scut! Causing a row in my household. And to think Daisy could set her heart out Set it on a platter for a contemptuous fool! She has always loved me! No one else is fitting for such an honor. An honor I presume it to be If, I dare say it, Daisy did not carry with her an air of illusory unsophistication. Throwing that aside, she’s the fairest there is, and she is mine! The golden girl for whom I made vacant a whole floor of the Muhlbach Hotel to adjoin our hearts as one. T hen a bootlegger who barely crawled out of Oxford. Oxford! ‘Old sport’ he calls me, like our acquaintance is of ancient. Oh the thought! From drug store dealings to oil business fabrications, He has woven into Daisy’s thinking the perfect, honorable gentleman. Oh the disgust! What scorns I throw at him. Gatsby is no more pathetic than Wilson. Although, I refrain to say, I feel an ache of envy of the chap. His wife, my unfaithful mistress. Oh Myrtle with your sensuous appearance. You too are slipping out of my loosened grip. Argh! What shame has overcome me! And yet so highly undeserved. I won’t stand for this nonsense anymore.