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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 53/241
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"
She
would
have
to
be
taught
how
to
speak
,
"
he
commented
,
"
or
else
most
of
the
men
wouldn
’
t
understand
her
.
I
’
m
sure
you
couldn
’
t
understand
a
quarter
of
what
she
said
if
she
just
spoke
naturally
.
"
"
Nonsense
!
You
are
as
bad
as
Arthur
when
you
try
to
make
your
point
.
"
"
You
forget
how
I
talked
when
you
first
met
me
.
I
have
learned
a
new
language
since
then
.
Before
that
time
I
talked
as
that
girl
talks
.
Now
I
can
manage
to
make
myself
understood
sufficiently
in
your
language
to
explain
that
you
do
not
know
that
other
girl
’
s
language
.
And
do
you
know
why
she
carries
herself
the
way
she
does
?
I
think
about
such
things
now
,
though
I
never
used
to
think
about
them
,
and
I
am
beginning
to
understand
—
much
.
"
"
But
why
does
she
?
"
"
She
has
worked
long
hours
for
years
at
machines
.
When
one
’
s
body
is
young
,
it
is
very
pliable
,
and
hard
work
will
mould
it
like
putty
according
to
the
nature
of
the
work
.
I
can
tell
at
a
glance
the
trades
of
many
workingmen
I
meet
on
the
street
.
Look
at
me
.
Why
am
I
rolling
all
about
the
shop
?
Because
of
the
years
I
put
in
on
the
sea
.
If
I
’
d
put
in
the
same
years
cow
-
punching
,
with
my
body
young
and
pliable
,
I
wouldn
’
t
be
rolling
now
,
but
I
’
d
be
bow
-
legged
.
And
so
with
that
girl
.
You
noticed
that
her
eyes
were
what
I
might
call
hard
.
She
has
never
been
sheltered
.
She
has
had
to
take
care
of
herself
,
and
a
young
girl
can
’
t
take
care
of
herself
and
keep
her
eyes
soft
and
gentle
like
—
like
yours
,
for
example
.
"
"
I
think
you
are
right
,
"
Ruth
said
in
a
low
voice
.
"
And
it
is
too
bad
.
She
is
such
a
pretty
girl
.
"
He
looked
at
her
and
saw
her
eyes
luminous
with
pity
.
And
then
he
remembered
that
he
loved
her
and
was
lost
in
amazement
at
his
fortune
that
permitted
him
to
love
her
and
to
take
her
on
his
arm
to
a
lecture
.
Who
are
you
,
Martin
Eden
?
he
demanded
of
himself
in
the
looking
-
glass
,
that
night
when
he
got
back
to
his
room
.
He
gazed
at
himself
long
and
curiously
.
Who
are
you
?
What
are
you
?
Where
do
you
belong
?
You
belong
by
rights
to
girls
like
Lizzie
Connolly
.
You
belong
with
the
legions
of
toil
,
with
all
that
is
low
,
and
vulgar
,
and
unbeautiful
.
You
belong
with
the
oxen
and
the
drudges
,
in
dirty
surroundings
among
smells
and
stenches
.
There
are
the
stale
vegetables
now
.
Those
potatoes
are
rotting
.
Smell
them
,
damn
you
,
smell
them
!
And
yet
you
dare
to
open
the
books
,
to
listen
to
beautiful
music
,
to
learn
to
love
beautiful
paintings
,
to
speak
good
English
,
to
think
thoughts
that
none
of
your
own
kind
thinks
,
to
tear
yourself
away
from
the
oxen
and
the
Lizzie
Connollys
and
to
love
a
pale
spirit
of
a
woman
who
is
a
million
miles
beyond
you
and
who
lives
in
the
stars
!
Who
are
you
?
And
what
are
you
?
Damn
you
!
And
are
you
going
to
make
good
?
