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- Джек Лондон
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- Мартин Иден
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Baldly
as
he
had
stated
it
,
in
his
eyes
was
a
rich
vision
of
that
hot
,
starry
night
at
Salina
Cruz
,
the
white
strip
of
beach
,
the
lights
of
the
sugar
steamers
in
the
harbor
,
the
voices
of
the
drunken
sailors
in
the
distance
,
the
jostling
stevedores
,
the
flaming
passion
in
the
Mexican
’
s
face
,
the
glint
of
the
beast
-
eyes
in
the
starlight
,
the
sting
of
the
steel
in
his
neck
,
and
the
rush
of
blood
,
the
crowd
and
the
cries
,
the
two
bodies
,
his
and
the
Mexican
’
s
,
locked
together
,
rolling
over
and
over
and
tearing
up
the
sand
,
and
from
away
off
somewhere
the
mellow
tinkling
of
a
guitar
.
Such
was
the
picture
,
and
he
thrilled
to
the
memory
of
it
,
wondering
if
the
man
could
paint
it
who
had
painted
the
pilot
-
schooner
on
the
wall
.
The
white
beach
,
the
stars
,
and
the
lights
of
the
sugar
steamers
would
look
great
,
he
thought
,
and
midway
on
the
sand
the
dark
group
of
figures
that
surrounded
the
fighters
.
The
knife
occupied
a
place
in
the
picture
,
he
decided
,
and
would
show
well
,
with
a
sort
of
gleam
,
in
the
light
of
the
stars
.
But
of
all
this
no
hint
had
crept
into
his
speech
.
"
He
tried
to
bite
off
my
nose
,
"
he
concluded
.
"
Oh
,
"
the
girl
said
,
in
a
faint
,
far
voice
,
and
he
noticed
the
shock
in
her
sensitive
face
.
He
felt
a
shock
himself
,
and
a
blush
of
embarrassment
shone
faintly
on
his
sunburned
cheeks
,
though
to
him
it
burned
as
hotly
as
when
his
cheeks
had
been
exposed
to
the
open
furnace
-
door
in
the
fire
-
room
.
Such
sordid
things
as
stabbing
affrays
were
evidently
not
fit
subjects
for
conversation
with
a
lady
.
People
in
the
books
,
in
her
walk
of
life
,
did
not
talk
about
such
things
—
perhaps
they
did
not
know
about
them
,
either
.
There
was
a
brief
pause
in
the
conversation
they
were
trying
to
get
started
.
Then
she
asked
tentatively
about
the
scar
on
his
cheek
.
Even
as
she
asked
,
he
realized
that
she
was
making
an
effort
to
talk
his
talk
,
and
he
resolved
to
get
away
from
it
and
talk
hers
.
"
It
was
just
an
accident
,
"
he
said
,
putting
his
hand
to
his
cheek
.
"
One
night
,
in
a
calm
,
with
a
heavy
sea
running
,
the
main
-
boom
-
lift
carried
away
,
an
’
next
the
tackle
.
The
lift
was
wire
,
an
’
it
was
threshin
’
around
like
a
snake
.
The
whole
watch
was
tryin
’
to
grab
it
,
an
’
I
rushed
in
an
’
got
swatted
.
"
"
Oh
,
"
she
said
,
this
time
with
an
accent
of
comprehension
,
though
secretly
his
speech
had
been
so
much
Greek
to
her
and
she
was
wondering
what
a
lift
was
and
what
swatted
meant
.
"
This
man
Swineburne
,
"
he
began
,
attempting
to
put
his
plan
into
execution
and
pronouncing
the
i
long
.
"
Who
?
"
"
Swineburne
,
"
he
repeated
,
with
the
same
mispronunciation
.
"
The
poet
.
"
"
Swinburne
,
"
she
corrected
.
