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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 144/241
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"
And
I
am
,
too
,
"
she
blurted
out
.
Martin
was
bewildered
by
the
tears
of
mortification
he
saw
in
her
eyes
.
The
mood
,
whatever
it
was
,
was
genuine
.
"
But
,
Marian
,
why
should
your
Hermann
be
jealous
of
my
writing
poetry
about
my
own
sister
?
"
"
He
ain
’
t
jealous
,
"
she
sobbed
.
"
He
says
it
was
indecent
,
ob
—
obscene
.
"
Martin
emitted
a
long
,
low
whistle
of
incredulity
,
then
proceeded
to
resurrect
and
read
a
carbon
copy
of
"
The
Palmist
.
"
"
I
can
’
t
see
it
,
"
he
said
finally
,
proffering
the
manuscript
to
her
.
"
Read
it
yourself
and
show
me
whatever
strikes
you
as
obscene
—
that
was
the
word
,
wasn
’
t
it
?
"
"
He
says
so
,
and
he
ought
to
know
,
"
was
the
answer
,
with
a
wave
aside
of
the
manuscript
,
accompanied
by
a
look
of
loathing
.
"
And
he
says
you
’
ve
got
to
tear
it
up
.
He
says
he
won
’
t
have
no
wife
of
his
with
such
things
written
about
her
which
anybody
can
read
.
He
says
it
’
s
a
disgrace
,
an
’
he
won
’
t
stand
for
it
.
"
"
Now
,
look
here
,
Marian
,
this
is
nothing
but
nonsense
,
"
Martin
began
;
then
abruptly
changed
his
mind
.
He
saw
before
him
an
unhappy
girl
,
knew
the
futility
of
attempting
to
convince
her
husband
or
her
,
and
,
though
the
whole
situation
was
absurd
and
preposterous
,
he
resolved
to
surrender
.
"
All
right
,
"
he
announced
,
tearing
the
manuscript
into
half
a
dozen
pieces
and
throwing
it
into
the
waste
-
basket
.
He
contented
himself
with
the
knowledge
that
even
then
the
original
type
-
written
manuscript
was
reposing
in
the
office
of
a
New
York
magazine
.
Marian
and
her
husband
would
never
know
,
and
neither
himself
nor
they
nor
the
world
would
lose
if
the
pretty
,
harmless
poem
ever
were
published
.
