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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
Then
I
will
answer
.
"
She
steeled
herself
to
do
it
.
"
I
don
’
t
think
you
were
made
to
write
.
Forgive
me
,
dear
.
You
compel
me
to
say
it
;
and
you
know
I
know
more
about
literature
than
you
do
.
"
"
Yes
,
you
are
a
Bachelor
of
Arts
,
"
he
said
meditatively
;
"
and
you
ought
to
know
.
"
"
But
there
is
more
to
be
said
,
"
he
continued
,
after
a
pause
painful
to
both
.
"
I
know
what
I
have
in
me
.
No
one
knows
that
so
well
as
I
.
I
know
I
shall
succeed
.
I
will
not
be
kept
down
.
I
am
afire
with
what
I
have
to
say
in
verse
,
and
fiction
,
and
essay
.
I
do
not
ask
you
to
have
faith
in
that
,
though
.
I
do
not
ask
you
to
have
faith
in
me
,
nor
in
my
writing
.
What
I
do
ask
of
you
is
to
love
me
and
have
faith
in
love
.
"
"
A
year
ago
I
believed
for
two
years
.
One
of
those
years
is
yet
to
run
.
And
I
do
believe
,
upon
my
honor
and
my
soul
,
that
before
that
year
is
run
I
shall
have
succeeded
.
You
remember
what
you
told
me
long
ago
,
that
I
must
serve
my
apprenticeship
to
writing
.
Well
,
I
have
served
it
.
I
have
crammed
it
and
telescoped
it
.
With
you
at
the
end
awaiting
me
,
I
have
never
shirked
.
Do
you
know
,
I
have
forgotten
what
it
is
to
fall
peacefully
asleep
.
A
few
million
years
ago
I
knew
what
it
was
to
sleep
my
fill
and
to
awake
naturally
from
very
glut
of
sleep
.
I
am
awakened
always
now
by
an
alarm
clock
.
If
I
fall
asleep
early
or
late
,
I
set
the
alarm
accordingly
;
and
this
,
and
the
putting
out
of
the
lamp
,
are
my
last
conscious
actions
.
"
"
When
I
begin
to
feel
drowsy
,
I
change
the
heavy
book
I
am
reading
for
a
lighter
one
.
And
when
I
doze
over
that
,
I
beat
my
head
with
my
knuckles
in
order
to
drive
sleep
away
.
Somewhere
I
read
of
a
man
who
was
afraid
to
sleep
.
Kipling
wrote
the
story
.
This
man
arranged
a
spur
so
that
when
unconsciousness
came
,
his
naked
body
pressed
against
the
iron
teeth
.
Well
,
I
’
ve
done
the
same
.
I
look
at
the
time
,
and
I
resolve
that
not
until
midnight
,
or
not
until
one
o
’
clock
,
or
two
o
’
clock
,
or
three
o
’
clock
,
shall
the
spur
be
removed
.
And
so
it
rowels
me
awake
until
the
appointed
time
.
That
spur
has
been
my
bed
-
mate
for
months
.
I
have
grown
so
desperate
that
five
and
a
half
hours
of
sleep
is
an
extravagance
.
I
sleep
four
hours
now
.
I
am
starved
for
sleep
.
There
are
times
when
I
am
light
-
headed
from
want
of
sleep
,
times
when
death
,
with
its
rest
and
sleep
,
is
a
positive
lure
to
me
,
times
when
I
am
haunted
by
Longfellow
’
s
lines
:
"
‘
The
sea
is
still
and
deep
;
All
things
within
its
bosom
sleep
;
A
single
step
and
all
is
o
’
er
,
A
plunge
,
a
bubble
,
and
no
more
.
’
"
