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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Стр. 129/332
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"
He
hated
to
quarrel
with
her
,
because
she
was
like
a
wild
rose
or
some
art
form
in
nature
.
Her
sketch-book
was
always
full
of
new
things
.
Her
muff
,
or
the
light
silk
shawl
she
wore
in
summer
,
sometimes
concealed
a
modeled
figure
of
some
kind
which
she
would
produce
with
a
look
like
that
of
a
doubting
child
,
and
if
he
wanted
it
,
if
he
liked
it
,
he
could
have
it
.
Cowperwood
meditated
deeply
.
He
scarcely
knew
what
to
think
.
The
constant
atmosphere
of
suspicion
and
doubt
in
which
he
was
compelled
to
remain
,
came
by
degrees
to
distress
and
anger
him
.
While
she
was
with
him
she
was
clinging
enough
,
but
when
she
was
away
she
was
ardently
cheerful
and
happy
.
Unlike
the
station
he
had
occupied
in
so
many
previous
affairs
,
he
found
himself
,
after
the
first
little
while
,
asking
her
whether
she
loved
him
instead
of
submitting
to
the
same
question
from
her
.
He
thought
that
with
his
means
,
his
position
,
his
future
possibilities
he
had
the
power
to
bind
almost
any
woman
once
drawn
to
his
personality
;
but
Stephanie
was
too
young
and
too
poetic
to
be
greatly
impaired
by
wealth
and
fame
,
and
she
was
not
yet
sufficiently
gripped
by
the
lure
of
him
.
She
loved
him
in
her
strange
way
;
but
she
was
interested
also
by
the
latest
arrival
,
Forbes
Gurney
.
This
tall
,
melancholy
youth
,
with
brown
eyes
and
pale-brown
hair
,
was
very
poor
.
He
hailed
from
southern
Minnesota
,
and
what
between
a
penchant
for
journalism
,
verse-writing
,
and
some
dramatic
work
,
was
somewhat
undecided
as
to
his
future
.
His
present
occupation
was
that
of
an
instalment
collector
for
a
furniture
company
,
which
set
him
free
,
as
a
rule
,
at
three
o'clock
in
the
afternoon
.
He
was
trying
,
in
a
mooning
way
,
to
identify
himself
with
the
Chicago
newspaper
world
,
and
was
a
discovery
of
Gardner
Knowles
.
Stephanie
had
seen
him
about
the
rooms
of
the
Garrick
Players
.
She
had
looked
at
his
longish
face
with
its
aureole
of
soft
,
crinkly
hair
,
his
fine
wide
mouth
,
deep-set
eyes
,
and
good
nose
,
and
had
been
touched
by
an
atmosphere
of
wistfulness
,
or
,
let
us
say
,
life-hunger
.
Gardner
Knowles
brought
a
poem
of
his
once
,
which
he
had
borrowed
from
him
,
and
read
it
to
the
company
,
Stephanie
,
Ethel
Tuckerman
,
Lane
Cross
,
and
Irma
Ottley
assembled
.
"
Listen
to
this
,
"
Knowles
had
suddenly
exclaimed
,
taking
it
out
of
his
pocket
.
It
concerned
a
garden
of
the
moon
with
the
fragrance
of
pale
blossoms
,
a
mystic
pool
,
some
ancient
figures
of
joy
,
a
quavered
Lucidian
tune
.
"
With
eerie
flute
and
rhythmic
thrum
Of
muted
strings
and
beaten
drum
.
"
Stephanie
Platow
had
sat
silent
,
caught
by
a
quality
that
was
akin
to
her
own
.
She
asked
to
see
it
,
and
read
it
in
silence
.
"
I
think
it
's
charming
,
"
she
said
.
