Американская трагедия

Chapter 7

           God!Whatwashethinkinginthefaceofsuchadesperatesituationasthis?Supposinghedidneedthesuit!

           Hewasnowup,standing—mentallyandphysicallyfrozenreally—hiseyestouchedwithastonyglazeforthemoment.Hemustgetoutofhere.Hemustgobackthere,atonce,anddisposeofthatsuit—dropitinthelake—hideitsomewhereinthosewoodsbeyondthehouse!Andyet—hecouldnotdothatsoswiftly,either—leavesoinstantlyafterthislightconversationaboutthedrowningofthosetwopeople.Howwouldthatlook?

           Andasinstantlytherecamethethought—no—becalm—shownotraceofexcitementofanykind,ifyoucanmanageit—appearcool—makesomeunimportantremark,ifyoucan.

           Andsonow,musteringwhatnervousstrengthhehad,anddrawingneartoSondra,hesaid:"Toobad,eh?"Yetinavoicethatforallitsthinly-achievednormalitywasontheborderlineofshakingandtrembling.Hiskneesandhishands,also.

           "Yes,itcertainlyis,"repliedSondra,turningtohimalonenow."Ialwayshatetohearofanythinglikethat,don’tyou?MotherworriessoaboutStuartandmefoolingaroundtheselakesasitis."

           "Yes,Iknow."Hisvoicewasthickandheavy.Hecouldscarcelyformthewords.Theyweresmothered,choked.Hislipstightenedtoathinnerwhitelinethanbefore.Hisfacegrewpalerstill.

           "Why,what’sthematter,Clydie?"Sondraasked,ofasudden,lookingathimmoreclosely.

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