-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Теодор Драйзер
-
- Американская трагедия
-
- Стр. 577/598
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
He
stared
at
Clyde
convincingly
--
then
smiled
and
departed
.
And
Clyde
,
leaning
against
his
cell
door
,
began
to
wonder
.
The
Creator
!
His
Creator
!
The
Creator
of
the
World
!
...
Ask
and
see
--
!
And
yet
--
there
was
still
lingering
here
in
him
that
old
contempt
of
his
for
religion
and
its
fruits
--
the
constant
and
yet
fruitless
prayers
and
exhortations
of
his
father
and
mother
.
Was
he
going
to
turn
to
religion
now
,
solely
because
he
was
in
difficulties
and
frightened
like
these
others
?
He
hoped
not
.
Not
like
that
,
anyway
Just
the
same
the
mood
,
as
well
as
the
temperament
of
the
Reverend
Duncan
McMillan
--
his
young
,
forceful
,
convinced
and
dramatic
body
,
face
,
eyes
,
now
intrigued
and
then
moved
Clyde
as
no
religionist
or
minister
in
all
his
life
before
ever
had
.
He
was
interested
,
arrested
and
charmed
by
the
man
's
faith
--
whether
at
once
or
not
at
all
--
ever
--
he
could
come
to
put
the
reliance
in
it
that
plainly
this
man
did
.
The
personal
conviction
and
force
of
such
an
individual
as
the
Reverend
McMillan
,
while
in
one
sense
an
old
story
to
Clyde
and
not
anything
which
so
late
as
eighteen
months
before
could
have
moved
him
in
any
way
(
since
all
his
life
he
had
been
accustomed
to
something
like
it
)
,
still
here
,
under
these
circumstances
,
affected
him
differently
.
Incarcerated
,
withdrawn
from
the
world
,
compelled
by
the
highly
circumscribed
nature
of
this
death
house
life
to
find
solace
or
relief
in
his
own
thoughts
,
Clyde
's
,
like
every
other
temperament
similarly
limited
,
was
compelled
to
devote
itself
either
to
the
past
,
the
present
or
the
future
.
But
the
past
was
so
painful
to
contemplate
at
any
point
.
It
seared
.
and
burned
.
And
the
present
(
his
immediate
surroundings
)
as
well
as
the
future
with
its
deadly
fear
of
what
was
certain
to
happen
in
case
his
appeal
failed
,
were
two
phases
equally
frightful
to
his
waking
consciousness
.
What
followed
then
was
what
invariably
follows
in
the
wake
of
every
tortured
consciousness
.
From
what
it
dreads
or
hates
,
yet
knows
or
feels
to
be
unescapable
,
it
takes
refuge
in
that
which
may
be
hoped
for
--
or
at
least
imagined
.
But
what
was
to
be
hoped
for
or
imagined
?
Because
of
the
new
suggestion
offered
by
Nicholson
,
a
new
trial
was
all
that
he
had
to
look
forward
to
,
in
which
case
,
and
assuming
himself
to
be
acquitted
thereafter
,
he
could
go
far
,
far
away
--
to
Australia
--
or
Africa
--
or
Mexico
--
or
some
such
place
as
that
,
where
,
under
a
different
name
--
his
old
connections
and
ambitions
relating
to
that
superior
social
life
that
had
so
recently
intrigued
him
,
laid
aside
,
he
might
recover
himself
in
some
small
way
.
But
directly
in
the
path
of
that
hopeful
imagining
,
of
course
,
stood
the
death
's
head
figure
of
a
refusal
on
the
part
of
the
Court
of
Appeals
to
grant
him
a
new
trial
.
Why
not
--
after
that
jury
at
Bridgeburg
?
And
then
--
as
in
that
dream
in
which
he
turned
from
the
tangle
of
snakes
to
face
the
tramping
rhinoceros
with
its
two
horns
--
he
was
confronted
by
that
awful
thing
in
the
adjoining
room
--
that
chair
!
That
chair
!
Its
straps
and
its
flashes
which
so
regularly
dimmed
the
lights
in
this
room
.
He
could
not
bear
to
think
of
his
entering
there
--
ever
.
And
yet
supposing
his
appeal
was
refused
!
Away
!
He
would
like
to
think
no
more
about
it
.
But
then
,
apart
from
that
what
was
there
to
think
of
?
It
was
that
very
question
that
up
to
the
time
of
the
arrival
of
the
Rev.
Duncan
McMillan
,
with
his
plea
for
a
direct
and
certainly
(
as
he
insisted
)
fruitful
appeal
to
the
Creator
of
all
things
,
that
had
been
definitely
torturing
Clyde
.
Yet
see
--
how
simple
was
his
solution
!
"
It
was
given
unto
you
to
know
the
Peace
of
God
,
"
he
insisted
,
quoting
Paul
and
thereafter
sentences
from
Corinthians
,
Galatians
,
Ephesians
,
on
how
easy
it
was
--
if
Clyde
would
but
repeat
and
pray
as
he
had
asked
him
to
--
for
him
to
know
and
delight
in
the
"
peace
that
passeth
all
understanding
.
"
It
was
with
him
,
all
around
him
.
He
had
but
to
seek
;
confess
the
miseries
and
errors
of
his
heart
,
and
express
contrition
.
"
Ask
,
and
ye
shall
receive
;
seek
,
and
ye
shall
find
;
knock
,
and
it
shall
be
opened
unto
you
.
For
EVERY
ONE
that
asketh
,
receiveth
;
and
he
that
seeketh
,
findeth
;
and
to
him
that
knocketh
it
shall
be
opened
.
For
what
man
is
there
of
you
whom
,
if
his
son
ask
bread
,
will
give
him
a
stone
;
or
,
if
he
ask
fish
,
will
give
him
a
serpent
?
"
So
he
quoted
,
beautifully
and
earnestly
.
And
yet
before
Clyde
always
was
the
example
of
his
father
and
mother
.
What
had
they
?
It
had
not
availed
them
much
--
praying
.
Neither
,
as
he
noticed
here
,
did
it
appear
to
avail
or
aid
these
other
condemned
men
,
the
majority
of
whom
lent
themselves
to
the
pleas
or
prayers
of
either
priest
or
rabbi
or
minister
,
one
and
the
other
of
whom
was
about
daily
.
Yet
were
they
not
led
to
their
death
just
the
same
--
and
complaining
or
protesting
,
or
mad
like
Cutrone
,
or
indifferent
?
As
for
himself
,
up
to
this
he
had
not
been
interested
by
any
of
these
.
Bunk
.
Notions
.
Of
what
?
He
could
not
say
.
Nevertheless
,
here
was
the
appealing
Rev.
Duncan
McMillan
.
His
mild
,
serene
eyes
.
His
sweet
voice
.
His
faith
.
