Мартин Иден

Chapter 18

           Afifthweekpassed,andasixth,duringwhichhelivedandtoiledasamachine,withjustasparkofsomethingmoreinhim,justaglimmeringbitofsoul,thatcompelledhim,ateachweek-end,toscorchoffthehundredandfortymiles. Butthiswasnotrest. Itwassuper-machinelike,andithelpedtocrushouttheglimmeringbitofsoulthatwasallthatwaslefthimfromformerlife. Attheendoftheseventhweek,withoutintendingit,tooweaktoresist,hedrifteddowntothevillagewithJoeanddrownedlifeandfoundlifeuntilMondaymorning. 

           Again,attheweek-ends,hegroundouttheonehundredandfortymiles,obliteratingthenumbnessoftoogreatexertionbythenumbnessofstillgreaterexertion. AttheendofthreemonthshewentdownathirdtimetothevillagewithJoe. Heforgot,andlivedagain,and,living,hesaw,inclearillumination,thebeasthewasmakingofhimselfnotbythedrink,butbythework. Thedrinkwasaneffect,notacause. Itfollowedinevitablyuponthework,asthenightfollowsupontheday. Notbybecomingatoil-beastcouldhewintotheheights,wasthemessagethewhiskeywhisperedtohim,andhenoddedapprobation. Thewhiskeywaswise. Ittoldsecretsonitself. 

           Hecalledforpaperandpencil,andfordrinksallaround,andwhiletheydrankhisverygoodhealth,heclungtothebarandscribbled. 

           "Atelegram,Joe,"hesaid. "Readit." 

           Joereaditwithadrunken,quizzicalleer. Butwhathereadseemedtosoberhim. Helookedattheotherreproachfully,tearsoozingintohiseyesanddownhischeeks. 

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