Мартин Иден

Chapter 40

           Andfinally,theeditor’sforewordendedwith:"Wehavenotyetmadeupourmindsentirelyastothemeritsof"Ephemera"; perhapsweshallneverbeabletodoso. Butwehavereaditoften,wonderingatthewordsandtheirarrangement,wonderingwhereMr.Brissendengotthem,andhowhecouldfastenthemtogether." Thenfollowedthepoem. 

           "Prettygoodthingyoudied,Briss,oldman,"Martinmurmured,lettingthemagazineslipbetweenhiskneestothefloor. 

           Thecheapnessandvulgarityofitwasnauseating,andMartinnotedapatheticallythathewasnotnauseatedverymuch. Hewishedhecouldgetangry,butdidnothaveenergyenoughtotry. Hewastoonumb. Hisbloodwastoocongealedtoacceleratetotheswifttidalflowofindignation. Afterall,whatdiditmatter? ItwasonaparwithalltherestthatBrissendenhadcondemnedinbourgeoissociety. 

           "PoorBriss,"Martincommuned; "hewouldneverhaveforgivenme." 

           Rousinghimselfwithaneffort,hepossessedhimselfofaboxwhichhadoncecontainedtype-writerpaper. Goingthroughitscontents,hedrewforthelevenpoemswhichhisfriendhadwritten. Thesehetorelengthwiseandcrosswiseanddroppedintothewastebasket. Hediditlanguidly,and,whenhehadfinished,satontheedgeofthebedstaringblanklybeforehim. 

           Howlonghesattherehedidnotknow,until,suddenly,acrosshissightlessvisionhesawformalonghorizontallineofwhite. Itwascurious. ButashewatcheditgrowindefinitenesshesawthatitwasacoralreefsmokinginthewhitePacificsurges. 

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