Фінансист

Chapter XXIII

           

           "What’sthetrouble,honey?"shewhispered,assoonasherfatherwasoutofhearing."Youlookworried."

           "Nothingmuch,Ihope,sweet,"hesaid."Chicagoisburningupandthere’sgoingtobetroubleto-morrow.Ihavetotalktoyourfather."

           Shehadtimeonlyforasympathetic,distressed"Oh,"beforehewithdrewhishandandfollowedButlerupstairs.Shesqueezedhisarm,andwentthroughthereception-roomtotheparlor.Shesatdown,thinking,forneverbeforehadsheseenCowperwood’sfacewearingsuchanexpressionofstern,disturbedcalculation.Itwasplacid,likefine,whitewax,andquiteascold;andthosedeep,vague,inscrutableeyes!SoChicagowasburning.Whatwouldhappentohim?Washeverymuchinvolved?Hehadnevertoldherindetailofhisaffairs.ShewouldnothaveunderstoodfullyanymorethanwouldhaveMrs.Cowperwood.Butshewasworried,nevertheless,becauseitwasherFrank,andbecauseshewasboundtohimbywhattoherseemedindissolubleties.

           Literature,outsideofthemasters,hasgivenusbutoneideaofthemistress,thesubtle,calculatingsirenwhodelightstopreyonthesoulsofmen.Thejournalismandthemoralpamphleteeringofthetimeseemtofosteritwithalmostpartisanzeal.Itwouldseemthatacensorshipoflifehadbeenestablishedbydivinity,andthecareofitsexecutiongivenintothehandsoftheutterlyconservative.Yetthereisthatotherformofliaisonwhichhasnothingtodowithconsciouscalculation.

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