Мартин Иден

Chapter 17

           ThesweatpouredfromMartin. Hedrankenormousquantitiesofwater,butsogreatwastheheatofthedayandofhisexertions,thatthewatersluicedthroughtheintersticesofhisfleshandoutatallhispores. Always,atsea,exceptatrareintervals,theworkheperformedhadgivenhimampleopportunitytocommunewithhimself. ThemasteroftheshiphadbeenlordofMartin’stime; butherethemanagerofthehotelwaslordofMartin’sthoughtsaswell. Hehadnothoughtssaveforthenerve-racking,body-destroyingtoil. Outsideofthatitwasimpossibletothink. HedidnotknowthathelovedRuth. Shedidnotevenexist,forhisdrivensoulhadnotimetorememberher. Itwasonlywhenhecrawledtobedatnight,ortobreakfastinthemorning,thatsheassertedherselftohiminfleetingmemories. 

           "Thisishell,ain’tit?"Joeremarkedonce. 

           Martinnodded,butfeltaraspofirritation. Thestatementhadbeenobviousandunnecessary. Theydidnottalkwhiletheyworked. Conversationthrewthemoutoftheirstride,asitdidthistime, compellingMartintomissastrokeofhisironandtomaketwoextramotionsbeforehecaughthisstrideagain. 

           OnFridaymorningthewasherran. Twiceaweektheyhadtoputthroughhotellinen,thesheets,pillow-slips,spreads,table-cloths,andnapkins. Thisfinished,theybuckleddownto"fancystarch." Itwasslowwork,fastidiousanddelicate,andMartindidnotlearnitsoreadily. Besides,hecouldnottakechances. Mistakesweredisastrous. 

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