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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Стр. 580/598
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No
,
no
,
better
wait
a
while
perhaps
--
at
least
until
the
Court
of
Appeals
had
passed
on
his
case
.
Why
jeopardize
his
case
when
God
already
knew
what
the
truth
was
?
Truly
,
truly
he
was
sorry
.
He
could
see
how
terrible
all
this
was
now
--
how
much
misery
and
heartache
,
apart
from
the
death
of
Roberta
,
he
had
caused
.
But
still
--
still
--
was
not
life
sweet
?
Oh
,
if
he
could
only
get
out
!
Oh
,
if
he
could
only
go
away
from
here
--
never
to
see
or
hear
or
feel
anything
more
of
this
terrible
terror
that
now
hung
over
him
.
The
slow
coming
dark
--
the
slow
coming
dawn
.
The
long
night
!
The
sighs
--
the
groans
.
The
tortures
by
day
and
by
night
until
it
seemed
at
times
as
though
he
should
go
mad
;
and
would
perhaps
except
for
McMillan
,
who
now
appeared
devoted
to
him
--
so
kind
,
appealing
and
reassuring
,
too
,
at
times
.
He
would
just
like
to
sit
down
some
day
--
here
or
somewhere
--
and
tell
him
all
and
get
him
to
say
how
really
guilty
,
if
at
all
,
he
thought
him
to
be
--
and
if
so
guilty
to
get
him
to
pray
for
him
.
At
times
he
felt
so
sure
that
his
mother
's
and
the
Rev.
Duncan
McMillan
's
prayers
would
do
him
so
much
more
good
with
this
God
than
any
prayers
of
his
own
would
.
Somehow
he
could
n't
pray
yet
.
And
at
times
hearing
McMillan
pray
,
softly
and
melodiously
,
his
voice
entering
through
the
bars
--
or
,
reading
from
Galatians
,
Thessalonians
,
Corinthians
,
he
felt
as
though
he
must
tell
him
everything
,
and
soon
.
But
the
days
going
by
until
finally
one
day
six
weeks
after
--
and
when
because
of
his
silence
in
regard
to
himself
,
the
Rev.
Duncan
was
beginning
to
despair
of
ever
affecting
him
in
any
way
toward
his
proper
contrition
and
salvation
--
a
letter
or
note
from
Sondra
.
It
came
through
the
warden
's
office
and
by
the
hand
of
the
Rev.
Preston
Guilford
,
the
Protestant
chaplain
of
the
prison
,
but
was
not
signed
.
It
was
,
however
,
on
good
paper
,
and
because
the
rule
of
the
prison
so
requiring
had
been
opened
and
read
.
Nevertheless
,
on
account
of
the
nature
of
the
contents
which
seemed
to
both
the
warden
and
the
Rev.
Guilford
to
be
more
charitable
and
punitive
than
otherwise
,
and
because
plainly
,
if
not
verifiably
,
it
was
from
that
Miss
X
of
repute
or
notoriety
in
connection
with
his
trial
,
it
was
decided
,
after
due
deliberation
,
that
Clyde
should
be
permitted
to
read
it
--
even
that
it
was
best
that
he
should
.
Perhaps
it
would
prove
of
value
as
a
lesson
.
The
way
of
the
transgressor
.
And
so
it
was
handed
to
him
at
the
close
of
a
late
fall
day
--
after
a
long
and
dreary
summer
had
passed
(
soon
a
year
since
he
had
entered
here
)
.
And
he
taking
it
.
And
although
it
was
typewritten
with
no
date
nor
place
on
the
envelope
,
which
was
postmarked
New
York
--
yet
sensing
somehow
that
it
might
be
from
her
.
And
growing
decidedly
nervous
--
so
much
so
that
his
hand
trembled
slightly
.
And
then
reading
--
over
and
over
and
over
--
during
many
days
thereafter
:
"
Clyde
--
This
is
so
that
you
will
not
think
that
some
one
once
dear
to
you
has
utterly
forgotten
you
.
She
has
suffered
much
,
too
.
And
though
she
can
never
understand
how
you
could
have
done
as
you
did
,
still
,
even
now
,
although
she
is
never
to
see
you
again
,
she
is
not
without
sorrow
and
sympathy
and
wishes
you
freedom
and
happiness
.
"
But
no
signature
--
no
trace
of
her
own
handwriting
.
She
was
afraid
to
sign
her
name
and
she
was
too
remote
from
him
in
her
mood
now
to
let
him
know
where
she
was
.
New
York
!
But
it
might
have
been
sent
there
from
anywhere
to
mail
.
And
she
would
not
let
him
know
--
would
never
let
him
know
--
even
though
he
died
here
later
,
as
well
he
might
.
His
last
hope
--
the
last
trace
of
his
dream
vanished
.
Forever
!
It
was
at
that
moment
,
as
when
night
at
last
falls
upon
the
faintest
remaining
gleam
of
dusk
in
the
west
.
A
dim
,
weakening
tinge
of
pink
--
and
then
the
dark
.
He
seated
himself
on
his
cot
.
The
wretched
stripes
of
his
uniform
and
his
gray
felt
shoes
took
his
eye
.
A
felon
.
These
stripes
.
These
shoes
.
This
cell
.
This
uncertain
,
threatening
prospect
so
very
terrible
to
contemplate
at
any
time
.
And
then
this
letter
.
So
this
was
the
end
of
all
that
wonderful
dream
!
And
for
this
he
had
sought
so
desperately
to
disengage
himself
from
Roberta
--
even
to
the
point
of
deciding
to
slay
her
.
This
!
This
!
He
toyed
with
the
letter
,
then
held
it
quite
still
.
Where
was
she
now
?
Who
in
love
with
,
maybe
?
She
had
had
time
to
change
perhaps
.
She
had
only
been
captivated
by
him
a
little
,
maybe
.
And
then
that
terrible
revelation
in
connection
with
him
had
destroyed
forever
,
no
doubt
,
all
sentiment
in
connection
with
him
.
She
was
free
.
She
had
beauty
--
wealth
.
Now
some
other
--
He
got
up
and
walked
to
his
cell
door
to
still
a
great
pain
.
Over
the
way
,
in
that
cell
the
Chinaman
had
once
occupied
,
was
a
Negro
--
Wash
Higgins
.
He
had
stabbed
a
waiter
in
a
restaurant
,
so
it
was
said
,
who
had
refused
him
food
and
then
insulted
him
.
And
next
to
him
was
a
young
Jew
.
He
had
killed
the
proprietor
of
a
jewelry
store
in
trying
to
rob
it
.
But
he
was
very
broken
and
collapsed
now
that
he
was
here
to
die
--
sitting
for
the
most
part
all
day
on
his
cot
,
his
head
in
his
hands
.
Clyde
could
see
both
now
from
where
he
stood
--
the
Jew
holding
his
head
.
But
the
Negro
on
his
cot
,
one
leg
above
the
other
,
smoking
--
and
singing
--
"
Oh
,
big
wheel
ro-a-lin
'
...
hmp!Oh
,
big
wheel
ro-a-lin
'
...
hmp!Oh
,
big
wheel
ro-a-lin
'
...
hmp!Foh
me
!
Foh
me
!
"
And
then
Clyde
,
unable
to
get
away
from
his
own
thoughts
,
turning
again
.
