Американська трагедія

Chapter 21

           Shefeltnumbandcoldandnowshookherheadinahelplessanddistractedway.Hecouldn’tbethatmean.Hecouldn’tbethatcrueltohernow—couldhe?Oh,ifhebutknewhowdifficult—howimpossiblewasthethinghewasaskingofher!Oh,ifthedaywouldonlycomesothatshecouldseehisfaceagain!Oh,ifitwereonlyanothernightsothatshecouldtakehishandsinhers—hisarm—feelhisarmsabouther.

           "Clyde,Clyde,"sheexclaimedhalfaloud,"youwouldn’tdothattome,wouldyou—youcouldn’t."

           Shecrossedtoanold,fadedandsomewhatdecrepitoverstuffedchairwhichstoodinthecenteroftheroombesideasmalltablewhereonlaysomenondescriptbooksandmagazines—theSaturdayEveningPost,Munsey’s,thePopularScienceMonthly,Bebe’sGardenSeeds,andtoescapemostdistractingandsearingthoughts,satdown,herchininherhands,herelbowsplantedonherknees.Butthepainfulthoughtscontinuingandasenseofchillovertakingher,shetookacomforteroffthebedandfoldeditabouther,thenopenedtheseedcatalogue—onlytothrowitdown.

           "No,no,no,hecouldn’tdothattome,hewouldn’t."Shemustnotlethim.Why,hehadtoldheroverandoverthathewascrazyabouther—madlyinlovewithher.Theyhadbeentoallthesewonderfulplacestogether.

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