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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Американская трагедия
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- Стр. 313/598
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And
yet
Roberta
,
sitting
here
with
him
now
on
the
sand
,
feeling
quite
at
peace
with
all
the
world
as
he
could
see
.
And
she
was
beginning
to
hum
a
little
,
and
then
to
make
advisory
and
practical
references
to
the
nature
of
their
coming
adventure
together
--
their
material
and
financial
state
from
now
on
--
how
and
where
they
would
go
from
here
--
Syracuse
,
most
likely
--
since
Clyde
seemed
to
have
no
objection
to
that
--
and
what
,
once
there
,
they
would
do
.
For
Roberta
had
heard
from
her
brother-in-law
,
Fred
Gabel
,
of
a
new
collar
and
shirt
factory
that
was
just
starting
up
in
Syracuse
.
Might
it
not
be
possible
for
Clyde
,
for
the
time
being
at
least
,
to
get
himself
a
position
with
that
firm
at
once
?
And
then
later
,
when
her
own
worst
trouble
was
over
,
might
not
she
connect
herself
with
the
same
company
,
or
some
other
?
And
temporarily
,
since
they
had
so
little
money
,
could
they
not
take
a
small
room
together
,
somewhere
in
some
family
home
,
or
if
he
did
not
like
that
,
since
they
were
by
no
means
so
close
temperamentally
as
they
once
had
been
,
then
two
small
adjoining
rooms
,
maybe
.
She
could
still
feel
his
unrelenting
opposition
under
all
this
present
show
of
courtesy
and
consideration
.
And
he
thinking
,
Oh
,
well
,
what
difference
such
talk
now
?
And
whether
he
agreed
or
whether
he
did
not
.
What
difference
since
he
was
not
going
--
or
she
either
--
that
way
.
Great
God
!
But
here
he
was
talking
as
though
tomorrow
she
would
be
here
still
.
And
she
would
not
be
.
If
only
his
knees
would
not
tremble
so
;
his
hands
and
face
and
body
continue
so
damp
.
And
after
that
,
farther
on
down
the
west
shore
of
this
small
lake
in
this
little
boat
,
to
that
island
,
with
Clyde
looking
nervously
and
wearily
here
and
there
to
see
that
there
was
no
one
--
no
one
--
not
anywhere
in
sight
on
land
or
water
--
no
one
.
It
was
so
still
and
deserted
here
,
thank
God
.
Here
--
or
anywhere
near
here
might
do
,
really
--
if
only
he
had
the
courage
so
to
do
now
,
which
he
had
not
--
yet
.
Roberta
trailing
her
hand
in
the
water
,
asking
him
if
he
thought
they
might
find
some
water-lilies
or
wild
flowers
somewhere
on
shore
.
Water-lilies
!
Wild
flowers
!
And
he
convincing
himself
as
he
went
that
there
were
no
roads
,
cabins
,
tents
,
paths
,
anything
in
the
form
of
a
habitation
among
these
tall
,
close
,
ranking
pines
--
no
trace
of
any
little
boat
on
the
widespread
surface
of
this
beautiful
lake
on
this
beautiful
day
.
Yet
might
there
not
be
some
lone
,
solitary
hunter
and
trapper
or
guide
or
fisherman
in
these
woods
or
along
these
banks
?
Might
there
not
be
?
And
supposing
there
were
one
here
now
somewhere
?
And
watching
!
Fate
!
Destruction
!
Death
!
Yet
no
sound
and
no
smoke
.
Only
--
only
--
these
tall
,
dark
,
green
pines
--
spear-shaped
and
still
,
with
here
and
there
a
dead
one
--
ashen
pale
in
the
hard
afternoon
sun
,
its
gaunt
,
sapless
arms
almost
menacingly
outstretched
.
Death
!
