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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Стр. 566/598
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And
in
the
meantime
Clyde
was
left
to
cogitate
on
and
make
the
best
of
a
world
that
at
its
best
was
a
kind
of
inferno
of
mental
ills
--
above
which
--
as
above
Dante
's
might
have
been
written
--
"
abandon
hope
--
ye
who
enter
here
.
"
The
somberness
of
it
.
Its
slow
and
yet
searing
psychic
force
!
The
obvious
terror
and
depression
--
constant
and
unshakeable
of
those
who
,
in
spite
of
all
their
courage
or
their
fears
,
their
bravado
or
their
real
indifference
(
there
were
even
those
)
were
still
compelled
to
think
and
wait
.
For
,
now
,
in
connection
with
this
coldest
and
bitterest
form
of
prison
life
he
was
in
constant
psychic
,
if
not
physical
contact
,
with
twenty
other
convicted
characters
of
varying
temperaments
and
nationalities
,
each
one
of
whom
,
like
himself
,
had
responded
to
some
heat
or
lust
or
misery
of
his
nature
or
his
circumstances
.
And
with
murder
,
a
mental
as
well
as
physical
explosion
,
as
the
final
outcome
or
concluding
episode
which
,
being
detected
,
and
after
what
horrors
and
wearinesses
of
mental
as
well
as
legal
contest
and
failure
,
such
as
fairly
paralleled
his
own
,
now
found
themselves
islanded
--
immured
--
in
one
or
another
of
these
twenty-two
iron
cages
and
awaiting
--
awaiting
what
?
How
well
they
knew
.
And
how
well
he
knew
.
And
here
with
what
loud
public
rages
and
despairs
or
prayers
--
at
times
.
At
others
--
what
curses
--
foal
or
coarse
jests
--
or
tales
addressed
to
all
--
or
ribald
laughter
--
or
sighings
and
groanings
in
these
later
hours
when
the
straining
spirit
having
struggled
to
silence
,
there
was
supposedly
rest
for
the
body
and
the
spirit
.
In
an
exercise
court
,
beyond
the
farthermost
end
of
the
long
corridor
,
twice
daily
,
for
a
few
minutes
each
time
,
between
the
hours
of
ten
and
five
--
the
various
inmates
in
groups
of
five
or
six
were
led
forth
--
to
breathe
,
to
walk
,
to
practice
calisthenics
--
or
run
and
leap
as
they
chose
.
But
always
under
the
watchful
eyes
of
sufficient
guards
to
master
them
in
case
they
attempted
rebellion
in
any
form
.
And
to
this
it
was
,
beginning
with
the
second
day
,
that
Clyde
himself
was
led
,
now
with
one
set
of
men
and
now
with
another
.
But
with
the
feeling
at
first
strong
in
him
that
he
could
not
share
in
any
of
these
public
activities
which
,
nevertheless
,
these
others
--
and
in
spite
of
their
impending
doom
--
seemed
willing
enough
to
indulge
in
.
The
two
dark-eyed
sinister-looking
Italians
,
one
of
whom
had
slain
a
girl
because
she
would
not
marry
him
;
the
other
who
had
robbed
and
then
slain
and
attempted
to
burn
the
body
of
his
father-in-law
in
order
to
get
money
for
himself
and
his
wife
!
And
big
Larry
Donahue
--
square-headed
,
square-shouldered
--
big
of
feet
and
hands
,
an
overseas
soldier
,
who
,
being
ejected
from
a
job
as
night
watchman
in
a
Brooklyn
factory
,
had
lain
for
the
foreman
who
had
discharged
him
--
and
then
killed
him
on
an
open
common
somewhere
at
night
,
but
without
the
skill
to
keep
from
losing
a
service
medal
which
had
eventually
served
to
betray
and
identify
him
.
Clyde
had
learned
all
this
from
the
strangely
indifferent
and
non-committal
,
yet
seemingly
friendly
guards
,
who
were
over
these
cells
by
night
and
by
day
--
two
and
two
,
turn
about
--
who
relieved
each
other
every
eight
hours
.
And
police
officer
Riordan
of
Rochester
,
who
had
killed
his
wife
because
she
was
determined
to
leave
him
--
and
now
,
himself
,
was
to
die
.
And
Thomas
Mowrer
,
the
young
"
farmer
"
or
farm
hand
,
as
he
really
was
,
whom
Clyde
on
his
first
night
had
heard
moaning
--
a
man
who
had
killed
his
employer
with
a
pitchfork
--
and
was
soon
to
die
now
--
as
Clyde
heard
,
and
who
walked
and
walked
,
keeping
close
to
the
wall
--
his
head
down
,
his
hands
behind
his
back
--
a
rude
,
strong
,
loutish
man
of
about
thirty
,
who
looked
more
beaten
and
betrayed
than
as
though
he
had
been
able
to
torture
or
destroy
another
.
Clyde
wondered
about
him
--
his
real
guilt
.
Again
Miller
Nicholson
,
a
lawyer
of
Buffalo
of
perhaps
forty
years
of
age
who
was
tall
and
slim
and
decidedly
superior
looking
--
a
refined
,
intellectual
type
,
one
you
would
have
said
was
no
murderer
--
any
more
than
Clyde
--
to
look
at
,
who
,
none-the-less
was
convicted
of
poisoning
an
old
man
of
great
wealth
and
afterwards
attempting
to
convert
his
fortune
to
his
own
use
.
Yet
decidedly
with
nothing
in
his
look
or
manner
,
as
Clyde
felt
,
at
least
,
which
marked
him
as
one
so
evil
--
a
polite
and
courteous
man
,
who
,
noting
Clyde
on
the
very
first
morning
of
his
arrival
here
,
approached
and
said
:
"
Scared
?
"
But
in
the
most
gentle
and
solicitous
tone
,
as
Clyde
could
hear
and
feel
,
even
though
he
stood
blank
and
icy
--
afraid
almost
to
move
--
or
think
.
Yet
in
this
mood
--
and
because
he
felt
so
truly
done
for
,
replying
:
"
Yes
,
I
guess
I
am
.
"
But
once
it
was
out
,
wondering
why
he
had
said
it
(
so
weak
a
confession
)
and
afterwards
something
in
the
man
heartening
him
,
wishing
that
he
had
not
.
"
Your
name
's
Griffiths
,
is
n't
it
?
"
"
Yes
.
"
"
Well
,
my
name
's
Nicholson
.
Do
n't
be
frightened
.
You
'll
get
used
to
it
.
"
He
achieved
a
cheerful
,
if
wan
smile
.
But
his
eyes
--
they
did
not
seem
like
that
--
no
smile
there
.
