But i didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as i was from him, i could have sworn he was trembling. involuntarily i glanced seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. when i looked once more for gatsby he had vanished, and i was alone again in the unquiet darkness. gatsby’s reaching from the darkness toward the light, creates fear and loathing. sadness and loss. sympathy and insight. mystery and interest.