Мартин Иден

Chapter 26

           Thenherememberedhislong-buriedpastofyesterday. Itseemedalife-timesincehehadreceivedthatletterfromtheTranscontinental,alife-timesinceitwasalloveranddonewithandanewpageturned. Hehadshothisbolt,andshotithard,andnowhewasdownonhisback. Ifhehadn’tstarvedhimself,hewouldn’thavebeencaughtbyLaGrippe. Hehadbeenrundown,andhehadnothadthestrengthtothrowoffthegermofdiseasewhichhadinvadedhissystem. Thiswaswhatresulted. 

           "Whatdoesitprofitamantowriteawholelibraryandlosehisownlife?"hedemandedaloud. "Thisisnoplaceforme. Nomoreliteratureinmine. Meforthecounting-houseandledger,themonthlysalary,andthelittlehomewithRuth." 

           Twodayslater,havingeatenaneggandtwoslicesoftoastanddrunkacupoftea,heaskedforhismail,butfoundhiseyesstillhurttoomuchtopermithimtoread. 

           "Youreadforme,Maria,"hesaid. "Nevermindthebig,longletters. Throwthemunderthetable. Readmethesmallletters." 

           "Nocan,"wastheanswer. "Teresa,shegotoschool,shecan." 

           SoTeresaSilva,agednine,openedhislettersandreadthemtohim. Helistenedabsentlytoalongdunfromthetype-writerpeople,hismindbusywithwaysandmeansoffindingajob. Suddenlyhewasshockedbacktohimself. 

           "‘Weofferyoufortydollarsforallserialrightsinyourstory,’"Teresaslowlyspelledout,"‘providedyouallowustomakethealterationssuggested.’" 

           "Whatmagazineisthat?"Martinshouted. "Here,giveittome!" 

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