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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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"
I
don
’
t
know
what
you
’
ll
make
of
this
,
"
he
said
apologetically
.
"
It
’
s
a
funny
thing
.
I
’
m
afraid
I
got
beyond
my
depth
in
it
,
but
my
intentions
were
good
.
Don
’
t
bother
about
the
little
features
of
it
.
Just
see
if
you
catch
the
feel
of
the
big
thing
in
it
.
It
is
big
,
and
it
is
true
,
though
the
chance
is
large
that
I
have
failed
to
make
it
intelligible
.
"
He
read
,
and
as
he
read
he
watched
her
.
At
last
he
had
reached
her
,
he
thought
.
She
sat
without
movement
,
her
eyes
steadfast
upon
him
,
scarcely
breathing
,
caught
up
and
out
of
herself
,
he
thought
,
by
the
witchery
of
the
thing
he
had
created
.
He
had
entitled
the
story
"
Adventure
,
"
and
it
was
the
apotheosis
of
adventure
—
not
of
the
adventure
of
the
storybooks
,
but
of
real
adventure
,
the
savage
taskmaster
,
awful
of
punishment
and
awful
of
reward
,
faithless
and
whimsical
,
demanding
terrible
patience
and
heartbreaking
days
and
nights
of
toil
,
offering
the
blazing
sunlight
glory
or
dark
death
at
the
end
of
thirst
and
famine
or
of
the
long
drag
and
monstrous
delirium
of
rotting
fever
,
through
blood
and
sweat
and
stinging
insects
leading
up
by
long
chains
of
petty
and
ignoble
contacts
to
royal
culminations
and
lordly
achievements
.
It
was
this
,
all
of
it
,
and
more
,
that
he
had
put
into
his
story
,
and
it
was
this
,
he
believed
,
that
warmed
her
as
she
sat
and
listened
.
Her
eyes
were
wide
,
color
was
in
her
pale
cheeks
,
and
before
he
finished
it
seemed
to
him
that
she
was
almost
panting
.
Truly
,
she
was
warmed
;
but
she
was
warmed
,
not
by
the
story
,
but
by
him
.
She
did
not
think
much
of
the
story
;
it
was
Martin
’
s
intensity
of
power
,
the
old
excess
of
strength
that
seemed
to
pour
from
his
body
and
on
and
over
her
.
The
paradox
of
it
was
that
it
was
the
story
itself
that
was
freighted
with
his
power
,
that
was
the
channel
,
for
the
time
being
,
through
which
his
strength
poured
out
to
her
.
She
was
aware
only
of
the
strength
,
and
not
of
the
medium
,
and
when
she
seemed
most
carried
away
by
what
he
had
written
,
in
reality
she
had
been
carried
away
by
something
quite
foreign
to
it
—
by
a
thought
,
terrible
and
perilous
,
that
had
formed
itself
unsummoned
in
her
brain
.
She
had
caught
herself
wondering
what
marriage
was
like
,
and
the
becoming
conscious
of
the
waywardness
and
ardor
of
the
thought
had
terrified
her
.
It
was
unmaidenly
.
It
was
not
like
her
.
She
had
never
been
tormented
by
womanhood
,
and
she
had
lived
in
a
dreamland
of
Tennysonian
poesy
,
dense
even
to
the
full
significance
of
that
delicate
master
’
s
delicate
allusions
to
the
grossnesses
that
intrude
upon
the
relations
of
queens
and
knights
.
She
had
been
asleep
,
always
,
and
now
life
was
thundering
imperatively
at
all
her
doors
.
Mentally
she
was
in
a
panic
to
shoot
the
bolts
and
drop
the
bars
into
place
,
while
wanton
instincts
urged
her
to
throw
wide
her
portals
and
bid
the
deliciously
strange
visitor
to
enter
in
.
Martin
waited
with
satisfaction
for
her
verdict
.
He
had
no
doubt
of
what
it
would
be
,
and
he
was
astounded
when
he
heard
her
say
:
"
It
is
beautiful
.
"
"
It
is
beautiful
,
"
she
repeated
,
with
emphasis
,
after
a
pause
.
Of
course
it
was
beautiful
;
but
there
was
something
more
than
mere
beauty
in
it
,
something
more
stingingly
splendid
which
had
made
beauty
its
handmaiden
.
He
sprawled
silently
on
the
ground
,
watching
the
grisly
form
of
a
great
doubt
rising
before
him
.
He
had
failed
.
He
was
inarticulate
.
He
had
seen
one
of
the
greatest
things
in
the
world
,
and
he
had
not
expressed
it
.
"
What
did
you
think
of
the
—
"
He
hesitated
,
abashed
at
his
first
attempt
to
use
a
strange
word
.
"
Of
the
motif
?
"
he
asked
.
"
It
was
confused
,
"
she
answered
.
"
That
is
my
only
criticism
in
the
large
way
.
I
followed
the
story
,
but
there
seemed
so
much
else
.
It
is
too
wordy
.
You
clog
the
action
by
introducing
so
much
extraneous
material
.
"
"
That
was
the
major
motif
,
"
he
hurriedly
explained
,
"
the
big
underrunning
motif
,
the
cosmic
and
universal
thing
.
I
tried
to
make
it
keep
time
with
the
story
itself
,
which
was
only
superficial
after
all
.
I
was
on
the
right
scent
,
but
I
guess
I
did
it
badly
.
I
did
not
succeed
in
suggesting
what
I
was
driving
at
.
But
I
’
ll
learn
in
time
.
"
