Американська трагедія

Chapter 25

           Thatis"—hehesitatedincautiously—"somepartsofthemanyhow."

           "Oh,Iseeonlysomepartsofthemnow.Ithoughtyoujustsaidyouconsideredthemsad."

           "Well,Ido."

           "Anddid."

           "Yes,siranddid."ButClyde’seyeswerebeginningtowandernervouslyinthedirectionofJephson,whowasfixinghimaswithabeamoflight.

           "Rememberherwritingyouthis?"AndhereMasonpickedupandopenedoneofthelettersandbeganreading:"ClydeIshallcertainlydie,dear,ifyoudon’tcome.Iamsomuchalone.Iamnearlycrazynow.IwishIcouldgoawayandneverreturnortroubleyouanymore.Butifyouwouldonlytelephoneme,evensomuchasonceeveryotherday,sinceyouwon’twrite.AndwhenIneedyouandawordofencouragementso."Mason’svoicewasmellow.Itwassad.Onecouldfeel,ashespoke,thewaveofpassingpitythatwasmovingassoundandcolornotonlythroughhimbutthrougheveryspectatorinthehigh,narrowcourtroom."Doesthatseematallsadtoyou?"

           "Yes,sir,itdoes."

           "Diditthen?"

           "Yes,sir,itdid."

           "Youknewitwassincere,didn’tyou?"snarledMason.

           "Yes,sir.Idid."

           "Thenwhydidn’talittleofthatpitythatyouclaimmovedyousodeeplyoutthereinthecenterofBigBitternmoveyoudownthereinLycurgustopickupthetelephonethereinMrs.

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