Американская трагедия

Chapter 47

           "

           Thestillnessofthesepinesliningthisdampyellowroadalongwhichtheyweretraveling;thecoolandthesilence;thedarkshadowsandpurpleandgraydepthsandnooksinthem,evenathighnoon.Ifonewereslippingawayatnightorbyday,whowouldencounteronehere?Ablue-jayfarinthedepthssomewhereuttereditsmetallicshriek;afieldsparrow,tremulousuponsomedistanttwig,filledthesilvershadowswithitsperfectsong.AndRoberta,asthisheavy,coveredbuscrossedrillandthinstream,andthenroughwoodenbridgeshereandthere,commentedontheclarityandsparkleofthewater:"Isn’tthatwonderfulinthere?Doyouhearthetinklingofthatwater,Clyde?Oh,thefreshnessofthisair!"

           Andyetshewasgoingtodiesosoon!

           God!

           Butsupposingnow,atBigBittern—thelodgeandboathousethere—thereweremanypeople.Orthatthelake,peradventure,wasliterallydottedwiththosethatwerethere—allfishermenandallfishinghereandthere,eachoneseparateandalone—noprivacyoradesertedspotanywhere.Andhowstrangehehadnotthoughtofthat.Thislakewasprobablynotnearlyasdesertedashehadimagined,orwouldnotbeto-day,anymorethanGrassLakehadproved.Andthenwhat?

           Well,flightthen—flight—andletitgoatthat.Thisstrainwastoomuch—hell—hewoulddie,thinkingthoughtslikethese.

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