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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Американская трагедия
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- Стр. 295/598
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That
station
at
Gun
Lodge
with
a
bus
running
to
it
at
this
season
of
the
year
.
(
Ah
,
he
remembered
that
,
did
he
?
The
deuce
!
)
A
terrible
thing
,
to
remember
a
thing
like
that
in
connection
with
such
a
thought
as
this
!
But
if
he
were
going
to
think
of
such
a
thing
as
this
at
all
,
he
had
better
think
well
--
he
could
tell
himself
that
--
or
stop
thinking
about
it
now
--
once
and
forever
--
forever
.
But
Sondra
!
Roberta
!
If
ever
he
were
caught
--
electrocuted
!
And
yet
the
actual
misery
of
his
present
state
.
The
difficulty
!
The
danger
of
losing
Sondra
.
And
yet
,
murder
--
He
wiped
his
hot
and
wet
face
,
and
paused
and
gazed
at
a
group
of
trees
across
a
field
which
somehow
reminded
him
of
the
trees
of
.
.
.
well
...
he
did
n't
like
this
road
.
It
was
getting
too
dark
out
here
.
He
had
better
turn
and
go
back
.
But
that
road
at
the
south
and
leading
to
Three
Mile
Bay
and
Greys
Lake
--
if
one
chose
to
go
that
way
--
to
Sharon
and
the
Cranston
Lodge
--
whither
he
would
be
going
afterwards
if
he
did
go
that
way
.
God
!
Big
Bittern
--
the
trees
along
there
after
dark
would
be
like
that
--
blurred
and
gloomy
.
It
would
have
to
be
toward
evening
,
of
course
.
No
one
would
think
of
trying
to
...
well
...
in
the
morning
,
when
there
was
so
much
light
.
Only
a
fool
would
do
that
.
But
at
night
,
toward
dusk
,
as
it
was
now
,
or
a
little
later
.
But
,
damn
it
,
he
would
not
listen
to
such
thoughts
.
Yet
no
one
would
be
likely
to
see
him
or
Roberta
either
--
would
they
--
there
?
It
would
be
so
easy
to
go
to
a
place
like
Big
Bittern
--
for
an
alleged
wedding
trip
--
would
it
not
--
over
the
Fourth
,
say
--
or
after
the
fourth
or
fifth
,
when
there
would
be
fewer
people
.
And
to
register
as
some
one
else
--
not
himself
--
so
that
he
could
never
be
traced
that
way
.
And
then
,
again
,
it
would
be
so
easy
to
get
back
to
Sharon
and
the
Cranstons
'
by
midnight
,
or
the
morning
of
the
next
day
,
maybe
,
and
then
,
once
there
he
could
pretend
also
that
he
had
come
north
on
that
early
morning
train
that
arrived
about
ten
o'clock
.
And
then
...
Confound
it
--
why
should
his
mind
keep
dwelling
on
this
idea
?
Was
he
actually
planning
to
do
a
thing
like
this
?
But
he
was
not
!
He
could
not
be
!
He
,
Clyde
Griffiths
,
could
not
be
serious
about
a
thing
like
this
.
That
was
not
possible
He
could
not
be
.
Of
course
!
It
was
all
too
impossible
,
too
wicked
,
to
imagine
that
he
,
Clyde
Griffiths
,
could
bring
himself
to
execute
a
deed
like
that
.
And
yet
...
And
forthwith
an
uncanny
feeling
of
wretchedness
and
insufficiency
for
so
dark
a
crime
insisted
on
thrusting
itself
forward
.
He
decided
to
retrace
his
steps
toward
Lycurgus
,
where
at
least
he
could
be
among
people
.
There
are
moments
when
in
connection
with
the
sensitively
imaginative
or
morbidly
anachronistic
--
the
mentality
assailed
and
the
same
not
of
any
great
strength
and
the
problem
confronting
it
of
sufficient
force
and
complexity
--
the
reason
not
actually
toppling
from
its
throne
,
still
totters
or
is
warped
or
shaken
--
the
mind
befuddled
to
the
extent
that
for
the
time
being
,
at
least
,
unreason
or
disorder
and
mistaken
or
erroneous
counsel
would
appear
to
hold
against
all
else
.
In
such
instances
the
will
and
the
courage
confronted
by
some
great
difficulty
which
it
can
neither
master
nor
endure
,
appears
in
some
to
recede
in
precipitate
flight
,
leaving
only
panic
and
temporary
unreason
in
its
wake
.
And
in
this
instance
,
the
mind
of
Clyde
might
well
have
been
compared
to
a
small
and
routed
army
in
full
flight
before
a
major
one
,
yet
at
various
times
in
its
precipitate
departure
,
pausing
for
a
moment
to
meditate
on
some
way
of
escaping
complete
destruction
and
in
the
coincident
panic
of
such
a
state
,
resorting
to
the
weirdest
and
most
haphazard
of
schemes
of
escaping
from
an
impending
and
yet
wholly
unescapable
fate
.
The
strained
and
bedeviled
look
in
his
eyes
at
moments
--
the
manner
in
which
,
from
moment
to
moment
and
hour
to
hour
,
he
went
over
and
over
his
hitherto
poorly
balanced
actions
and
thoughts
but
with
no
smallest
door
of
escape
anywhere
.
And
yet
again
at
moments
the
solution
suggested
by
the
item
in
The
Times
--
Union
again
thrusting
itself
forward
,
psychogenetically
,
born
of
his
own
turbulent
,
eager
and
disappointed
seeking
.
And
hence
persisting
.
Indeed
,
it
was
now
as
though
from
the
depths
of
some
lower
or
higher
world
never
before
guessed
or
plumbed
by
him
...
a
region
otherwhere
than
in
life
or
death
and
peopled
by
creatures
otherwise
than
himself
...
there
had
now
suddenly
appeared
,
as
the
genie
at
the
accidental
rubbing
of
Aladdin
's
lamp
--
as
the
efrit
emerging
as
smoke
from
the
mystic
jar
in
the
net
of
the
fisherman
--
the
very
substance
of
some
leering
and
diabolic
wish
or
wisdom
concealed
in
his
own
nature
,
and
that
now
abhorrent
and
yet
compelling
,
leering
and
yet
intriguing
,
friendly
and
yet
cruel
,
offered
him
a
choice
between
an
evil
which
threatened
to
destroy
him
(
and
against
his
deepest
opposition
)
and
a
second
evil
which
,
however
it
might
disgust
or
sear
or
terrify
,
still
provided
for
freedom
and
success
and
love
.
