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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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Though
they
had
often
bothered
him
,
he
had
never
bothered
about
them
;
and
he
would
never
have
dreamed
that
there
were
women
who
had
been
better
because
of
him
.
Always
in
sublime
carelessness
had
he
lived
,
till
now
,
and
now
it
seemed
to
him
that
they
had
always
reached
out
and
dragged
at
him
with
vile
hands
.
This
was
not
just
to
them
,
nor
to
himself
.
But
he
,
who
for
the
first
time
was
becoming
conscious
of
himself
,
was
in
no
condition
to
judge
,
and
he
burned
with
shame
as
he
stared
at
the
vision
of
his
infamy
.
He
got
up
abruptly
and
tried
to
see
himself
in
the
dirty
looking
-
glass
over
the
wash
-
stand
.
He
passed
a
towel
over
it
and
looked
again
,
long
and
carefully
.
It
was
the
first
time
he
had
ever
really
seen
himself
.
His
eyes
were
made
for
seeing
,
but
up
to
that
moment
they
had
been
filled
with
the
ever
changing
panorama
of
the
world
,
at
which
he
had
been
too
busy
gazing
,
ever
to
gaze
at
himself
.
He
saw
the
head
and
face
of
a
young
fellow
of
twenty
,
but
,
being
unused
to
such
appraisement
,
he
did
not
know
how
to
value
it
.
Above
a
square
-
domed
forehead
he
saw
a
mop
of
brown
hair
,
nut
-
brown
,
with
a
wave
to
it
and
hints
of
curls
that
were
a
delight
to
any
woman
,
making
hands
tingle
to
stroke
it
and
fingers
tingle
to
pass
caresses
through
it
.
But
he
passed
it
by
as
without
merit
,
in
Her
eyes
,
and
dwelt
long
and
thoughtfully
on
the
high
,
square
forehead
,
—
striving
to
penetrate
it
and
learn
the
quality
of
its
content
.
What
kind
of
a
brain
lay
behind
there
?
Was
his
insistent
interrogation
.
What
was
it
capable
of
?
How
far
would
it
take
him
?
Would
it
take
him
to
her
?
He
wondered
if
there
was
soul
in
those
steel
-
gray
eyes
that
were
often
quite
blue
of
color
and
that
were
strong
with
the
briny
airs
of
the
sun
-
washed
deep
.
He
wondered
,
also
,
how
his
eyes
looked
to
her
.
He
tried
to
imagine
himself
she
,
gazing
into
those
eyes
of
his
,
but
failed
in
the
jugglery
.
He
could
successfully
put
himself
inside
other
men
’
s
minds
,
but
they
had
to
be
men
whose
ways
of
life
he
knew
.
He
did
not
know
her
way
of
life
.
She
was
wonder
and
mystery
,
and
how
could
he
guess
one
thought
of
hers
?
Well
,
they
were
honest
eyes
,
he
concluded
,
and
in
them
was
neither
smallness
nor
meanness
.
The
brown
sunburn
of
his
face
surprised
him
.
He
had
not
dreamed
he
was
so
black
.
He
rolled
up
his
shirt
-
sleeve
and
compared
the
white
underside
if
the
arm
with
his
face
.
Yes
,
he
was
a
white
man
,
after
all
.
But
the
arms
were
sunburned
,
too
.
He
twisted
his
arm
,
rolled
the
biceps
over
with
his
other
hand
,
and
gazed
underneath
where
he
was
least
touched
by
the
sun
.
It
was
very
white
.
He
laughed
at
his
bronzed
face
in
the
glass
at
the
thought
that
it
was
once
as
white
as
the
underside
of
his
arm
;
nor
did
he
dream
that
in
the
world
there
were
few
pale
spirits
of
women
who
could
boast
fairer
or
smoother
skins
than
he
—
fairer
than
where
he
had
escaped
the
ravages
of
the
sun
.
His
might
have
been
a
cherub
’
s
mouth
,
had
not
the
full
,
sensuous
lips
a
trick
,
under
stress
,
of
drawing
firmly
across
the
teeth
.
At
times
,
so
tightly
did
they
draw
,
the
mouth
became
stern
and
harsh
,
even
ascetic
.
They
were
the
lips
of
a
fighter
and
of
a
lover
.
They
could
taste
the
sweetness
of
life
with
relish
,
and
they
could
put
the
sweetness
aside
and
command
life
.
The
chin
and
jaw
,
strong
and
just
hinting
of
square
aggressiveness
,
helped
the
lips
to
command
life
.
Strength
balanced
sensuousness
and
had
upon
it
a
tonic
effect
,
compelling
him
to
love
beauty
that
was
healthy
and
making
him
vibrate
to
sensations
that
were
wholesome
.
And
between
the
lips
were
teeth
that
had
never
known
nor
needed
the
dentist
’
s
care
.
They
were
white
and
strong
and
regular
,
he
decided
,
as
he
looked
at
them
.
But
as
he
looked
,
he
began
to
be
troubled
.
Somewhere
,
stored
away
in
the
recesses
of
his
mind
and
vaguely
remembered
,
was
the
impression
that
there
were
people
who
washed
their
teeth
every
day
.
They
were
the
people
from
up
above
—
people
in
her
class
.
She
must
wash
her
teeth
every
day
,
too
.
What
would
she
think
if
she
learned
that
he
had
never
washed
his
teeth
in
all
the
days
of
his
life
?
He
resolved
to
get
a
tooth
-
brush
and
form
the
habit
.
He
would
begin
at
once
,
tomorrow
.
It
was
not
by
mere
achievement
that
he
could
hope
to
win
to
her
.
He
must
make
a
personal
reform
in
all
things
,
even
to
tooth
-
washing
and
neck
-
gear
,
though
a
starched
collar
affected
him
as
a
renunciation
of
freedom
.
He
held
up
his
hand
,
rubbing
the
ball
of
the
thumb
over
the
calloused
palm
and
gazing
at
the
dirt
that
was
ingrained
in
the
flesh
itself
and
which
no
brush
could
scrub
away
.
How
different
was
her
palm
!
He
thrilled
deliciously
at
the
remembrance
.
Like
a
rose
-
petal
,
he
thought
;
cool
and
soft
as
a
snowflake
.
He
had
never
thought
that
a
mere
woman
’
s
hand
could
be
so
sweetly
soft
.
He
caught
himself
imagining
the
wonder
of
a
caress
from
such
a
hand
,
and
flushed
guiltily
.
It
was
too
gross
a
thought
for
her
.
In
ways
it
seemed
to
impugn
her
high
spirituality
.
She
was
a
pale
,
slender
spirit
,
exalted
far
beyond
the
flesh
;
but
nevertheless
the
softness
of
her
palm
persisted
in
his
thoughts
.
He
was
used
to
the
harsh
callousness
of
factory
girls
and
working
women
.
Well
he
knew
why
their
hands
were
rough
;
but
this
hand
of
hers
.
.
.
It
was
soft
because
she
had
never
used
it
to
work
with
.
The
gulf
yawned
between
her
and
him
at
the
awesome
thought
of
a
person
who
did
not
have
to
work
for
a
living
.
He
suddenly
saw
the
aristocracy
of
the
people
who
did
not
labor
.
It
towered
before
him
on
the
wall
,
a
figure
in
brass
,
arrogant
and
powerful
.
He
had
worked
himself
;
his
first
memories
seemed
connected
with
work
,
and
all
his
family
had
worked
.
There
was
Gertrude
.
When
her
hands
were
not
hard
from
the
endless
housework
,
they
were
swollen
and
red
like
boiled
beef
,
what
of
the
washing
.
And
there
was
his
sister
Marian
.
She
had
worked
in
the
cannery
the
preceding
summer
,
and
her
slim
,
pretty
hands
were
all
scarred
with
the
tomato
-
knives
.
Besides
,
the
tips
of
two
of
her
fingers
had
been
left
in
the
cutting
machine
at
the
paper
-
box
factory
the
preceding
winter
.
He
remembered
the
hard
palms
of
his
mother
as
she
lay
in
her
coffin
.
And
his
father
had
worked
to
the
last
fading
gasp
;
the
horned
growth
on
his
hands
must
have
been
half
an
inch
thick
when
he
died
.
But
Her
hands
were
soft
,
and
her
mother
’
s
hands
,
and
her
brothers
’
.
This
last
came
to
him
as
a
surprise
;
it
was
tremendously
indicative
of
the
highness
of
their
caste
,
of
the
enormous
distance
that
stretched
between
her
and
him
.
He
sat
back
on
the
bed
with
a
bitter
laugh
,
and
finished
taking
off
his
shoes
.
He
was
a
fool
;
he
had
been
made
drunken
by
a
woman
’
s
face
and
by
a
woman
’
s
soft
,
white
hands
.
And
then
,
suddenly
,
before
his
eyes
,
on
the
foul
plaster
-
wall
appeared
a
vision
.
He
stood
in
front
of
a
gloomy
tenement
house
.
It
was
night
-
time
,
in
the
East
End
of
London
,
and
before
him
stood
Margey
,
a
little
factory
girl
of
fifteen
.
He
had
seen
her
home
after
the
bean
-
feast
.
She
lived
in
that
gloomy
tenement
,
a
place
not
fit
for
swine
.
His
hand
was
going
out
to
hers
as
he
said
good
night
.
She
had
put
her
lips
up
to
be
kissed
,
but
he
wasn
’
t
going
to
kiss
her
.
Somehow
he
was
afraid
of
her
.
And
then
her
hand
closed
on
his
and
pressed
feverishly
.
He
felt
her
callouses
grind
and
grate
on
his
,
and
a
great
wave
of
pity
welled
over
him
.
He
saw
her
yearning
,
hungry
eyes
,
and
her
ill
-
fed
female
form
which
had
been
rushed
from
childhood
into
a
frightened
and
ferocious
maturity
;
then
he
put
his
arms
about
her
in
large
tolerance
and
stooped
and
kissed
her
on
the
lips
.
Her
glad
little
cry
rang
in
his
ears
,
and
he
felt
her
clinging
to
him
like
a
cat
.
Poor
little
starveling
!
He
continued
to
stare
at
the
vision
of
what
had
happened
in
the
long
ago
.
His
flesh
was
crawling
as
it
had
crawled
that
night
when
she
clung
to
him
,
and
his
heart
was
warm
with
pity
.
It
was
a
gray
scene
,
greasy
gray
,
and
the
rain
drizzled
greasily
on
the
pavement
stones
.
And
then
a
radiant
glory
shone
on
the
wall
,
and
up
through
the
other
vision
,
displacing
it
,
glimmered
Her
pale
face
under
its
crown
of
golden
hair
,
remote
and
inaccessible
as
a
star
.
