Сестра Керри

Chapter XXXIV. The Grind Of The Millstones: A Sample Of Chaff

           ThiswasintheBroadwayCentral,whichwasthenoneofthemostimportanthotelsinthecity.Takingachairherewasapainfulthingtohim.Tothinkheshouldcometothis!Hehadheardloungersabouthotelscalledchairwarmers.Hehadcalledthemthathimselfinhisday.Butherehewas,despitethepossibilityofmeetingsomeonewhoknewhim,shieldinghimselffromcoldandthewearinessofthestreetsinahotellobby.

           “Ican’tdothisway,”hesaidtohimself.“There’snouseofmystartingoutmorningswithoutfirstthinkingupsomeplacetogo.I’llthinkofsomeplacesandthenlookthemup.”

           Itoccurredtohimthatthepositionsofbartendersweresometimesopen,butheputthisoutofhismind.Bartender—he,theex-manager!

           Itgrewawfullydullsittinginthehotellobby,andsoatfourhewenthome.Hetriedtoputonabusinessairashewentin,butitwasafeebleimitation.Therockingchairinthedining-roomwascomfortable.Hesankintoitgladly,withseveralpapershehadbought,andbegantoread.

           Asshewasgoingthroughtheroomtobeginpreparingdinner,Carriesaid:

           “Themanwasherefortherentto-day.”

           “Oh,washe?”saidHurstwood.

           TheleastwrinklecreptintohisbrowasherememberedthatthiswasFebruary2d,thetimethemanalwayscalled.Hefisheddowninhispocketforhispurse,gettingthefirsttasteofpayingoutwhennothingiscomingin.Helookedatthefat,greenrollasasickmanlooksattheonepossiblesavingcure.Thenhecountedofftwenty-eightdollars.

           “Hereyouare,”hesaidtoCarrie,whenshecamethroughagain

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