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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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- Стр. 72/241
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But
no
one
stopped
it
,
and
he
was
glad
,
punching
on
wearily
and
endlessly
with
his
one
arm
,
battering
away
at
a
bloody
something
before
him
that
was
not
a
face
but
a
horror
,
an
oscillating
,
hideous
,
gibbering
,
nameless
thing
that
persisted
before
his
wavering
vision
and
would
not
go
away
.
And
he
punched
on
and
on
,
slower
and
slower
,
as
the
last
shreds
of
vitality
oozed
from
him
,
through
centuries
and
aeons
and
enormous
lapses
of
time
,
until
,
in
a
dim
way
,
he
became
aware
that
the
nameless
thing
was
sinking
,
slowly
sinking
down
to
the
rough
board
-
planking
of
the
bridge
.
And
the
next
moment
he
was
standing
over
it
,
staggering
and
swaying
on
shaky
legs
,
clutching
at
the
air
for
support
,
and
saying
in
a
voice
he
did
not
recognize
:
-
"
D
’
ye
want
any
more
?
Say
,
d
’
ye
want
any
more
?
"
He
was
still
saying
it
,
over
and
over
,
—
demanding
,
entreating
,
threatening
,
to
know
if
it
wanted
any
more
,
—
when
he
felt
the
fellows
of
his
gang
laying
hands
on
him
,
patting
him
on
the
back
and
trying
to
put
his
coat
on
him
.
And
then
came
a
sudden
rush
of
blackness
and
oblivion
.
The
tin
alarm
-
clock
on
the
table
ticked
on
,
but
Martin
Eden
,
his
face
buried
on
his
arms
,
did
not
hear
it
.
He
heard
nothing
.
He
did
not
think
.
So
absolutely
had
he
relived
life
that
he
had
fainted
just
as
he
fainted
years
before
on
the
Eighth
Street
Bridge
.
For
a
full
minute
the
blackness
and
the
blankness
endured
.
Then
,
like
one
from
the
dead
,
he
sprang
upright
,
eyes
flaming
,
sweat
pouring
down
his
face
,
shouting
:
-
"
I
licked
you
,
Cheese
-
Face
!
It
took
me
eleven
years
,
but
I
licked
you
!
"
His
knees
were
trembling
under
him
,
he
felt
faint
,
and
he
staggered
back
to
the
bed
,
sinking
down
and
sitting
on
the
edge
of
it
.
He
was
still
in
the
clutch
of
the
past
.
He
looked
about
the
room
,
perplexed
,
alarmed
,
wondering
where
he
was
,
until
he
caught
sight
of
the
pile
of
manuscripts
in
the
corner
.
Then
the
wheels
of
memory
slipped
ahead
through
four
years
of
time
,
and
he
was
aware
of
the
present
,
of
the
books
he
had
opened
and
the
universe
he
had
won
from
their
pages
,
of
his
dreams
and
ambitions
,
and
of
his
love
for
a
pale
wraith
of
a
girl
,
sensitive
and
sheltered
and
ethereal
,
who
would
die
of
horror
did
she
witness
but
one
moment
of
what
he
had
just
lived
through
—
one
moment
of
all
the
muck
of
life
through
which
he
had
waded
.
He
arose
to
his
feet
and
confronted
himself
in
the
looking
-
glass
.
"
And
so
you
arise
from
the
mud
,
Martin
Eden
,
"
he
said
solemnly
.
"
And
you
cleanse
your
eyes
in
a
great
brightness
,
and
thrust
your
shoulders
among
the
stars
,
doing
what
all
life
has
done
,
letting
the
‘
ape
and
tiger
die
’
and
wresting
highest
heritage
from
all
powers
that
be
.
"
