Мартин Иден

Chapter 1

           Hehadneverseenanything thathecouldn’tgetthehangofwhenhewantedto anditwasabouttimeforhimtowanttolearntotalkthethings thatwereinsideofhimsothatshecouldunderstand. Shewasbulkinglargeonhishorizon. 

           "NowLongfellow"shewassaying. 

           "Yes,I’veread’m,"hebrokeinimpulsively,spurredontoexhibitandmakethemostofhislittlestoreofbookknowledge, desirousofshowingherthathewasnotwhollyastupidclod. "‘ThePsalmofLife,’‘Excelsior,’an’...Iguessthat’sall." 

           Shenoddedherheadandsmiled, andhefelt,somehow,thathersmilewastolerant,pitifullytolerant. Hewasafooltoattempttomakeapretencethatway. ThatLongfellowchapmostlikelyhadwrittencountlessbooksofpoetry. 

           "Excuseme,miss,forbuttin’inthatway. IguesstherealfactsisthatIdon’tknownothin’muchaboutsuchthings. Itain’tinmyclass. ButI’mgoin’tomakeitinmyclass." 

           Itsoundedlikeathreat. Hisvoicewasdetermined,hiseyeswereflashing,thelinesofhisfacehadgrownharsh. Andtoheritseemedthattheangleofhisjawhadchanged; itspitchhadbecomeunpleasantlyaggressive. Atthesametimeawaveofintensevirilityseemedtosurgeoutfromhimandimpingeuponher. 

           "Ithinkyoucouldmakeitininyourclass,"shefinishedwithalaugh. "Youareverystrong." 

           Hergazerestedforamomentonthemuscularneck,heavycorded,almostbull-like,bronzedbythesun, spillingoverwithruggedhealthandstrength. 

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