I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home.
In the ditch beside the road, right side up, but violently shorn of one wheel, rested a new coupe which had left Gatsby’s drive not two minutes before.
Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes.
I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and no one would ever know or disapprove.
Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.
I hadn’t been there two minutes when somebody brought Tom Buchanan in for a drink.
It transpired after a confused five minutes that the man had heard Gatsby’s name around his office in a connection which he either wouldn’t reveal or didn’t fully understand.
He went out of the room calling "Ewing!" and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair.
I sat down for a few minutes with my head in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler’s voice calling a taxi.
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Twelve minutes to my train.
I called Gatsby’s house a few minutes later, but the line was busy.
Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own place and made a pot of coffee.
They got a circular from New York giving ’cause the numbers just five minutes before.
There are no more uses of "minuteness" in the book.