Американская трагедия

Chapter 47

           Andallthisknowledgeandtheirpresencetherenowmightmakethistripofhisuseless.Suchsillyplotting!Suchpointlessplanningasthis—whenatleasthemighthavetakenmoretime—chosenalakestillfartherawayandshouldhave—onlysotorturedhadhebeenfortheselastmanydays,thathecouldscarcelythinkhowtothink.Well,allhecoulddonowwastogoandsee.IfthereweremanyhemustthinkofsomewaytorowtosomereallonelyspotormaybeturnandreturntoGrassLake—orwhere?Oh,whatcouldorwouldhedo—ifthereweremanyoverhere?

           Butjustthenalongaisleofgreentreesgivingoutatthefarendashenowrecalleduponasquareoflawn,andthelakeitself,thelittleinnwithitspillaredverandah,facingthedarkbluewatersofBigBittern.Andthatlow,smallred-roofedboathousetotherightonthewaterthathehadseenbeforewhenhewashere.AndRobertaexclaimingonsight,"Oh,itispretty,isn’tit—justbeautiful."AndClydesurveyingthatdark,lowislandinthedistance,tothesouth,andseeingbutfewpeopleabout—noneonthelakeitself—exclaimingnervously,"Yes,itis,youbet."Butfeelinghalfchokedashesaidit.

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