sister carrie

Chapter 22 (2)

Chapter 12 The Lights of the Building: The Messenger's Plea (2)
As soon as Carrie was back in her room she felt poorer.She wasn't dull enough to realize that they lived in just three small rooms in a dormitory with modest furnishings.Now she compares the present situation not with the past, but with what she has seen recently.The splendor of the palace was still shining before her eyes, and the sound of the padded carriage was still ringing in her ears.After all, what could Drouet have said? What could she have said herself? Under the window, she pondered, rocking in her rocking-chair, looking out at the park with its lights shining beyond Warren Street. , Houses with flashing lights on Ashland Street.She was so dazzled that she couldn't even think of eating.Concentrating on meditating like this, I don't want to do anything, just rocking the rocking chair and humming a song.Some old songs came out of her mouth.While humming, her heart sank.She longed, longed, longed.For a while, I think about the old huts in Columbia City, for a while, the high-rise buildings on the lakeside avenue, for a while, which lady's gorgeous clothes, and for a while, which beautiful scenery.She is infinitely sad, still uncertain at all, looking forward to, dreaming about.When it came to the end, I seemed to feel that I was alone and had nowhere to call for help, and my lips could not help trembling.Sitting in the shade by the window, the minutes passed by.She hummed, as if she was happy to be in such an atmosphere, even though she didn't understand this state of mind.

While Carrie was in such a state of mind, the maid reported that Mr. Hurstwood was in the hall to see Mr. and Mrs. Drouet.

"I don't think he knew Charlie was away," thought Carrie.

She had not seen the manager much this winter, but for one thing or another, chiefly because of the strong impression he had made on her, she kept thinking of him.For a moment, she was quite disturbed by her appearance.But after adorning herself in the mirror, she was satisfied, and went downstairs.

Hurstwood was dressed in style, as usual.He had not heard that Drouet was away.He paid only the slightest attention to the news, and talked about general topics that would interest Carrie.It's astonishing—how leisurely he steers the conversation.Like a person who knows this way deeply, the other party who knows him is willing to listen to him.He knew that Carrie liked to hear him talk, and then, without much effort, he began to say something that captured her imagination.He moved the chair closer and controlled the tone of his voice properly, as if he was speaking from the bottom of his heart.He confines himself to his own opinions of other men and pleasures.He has been to many places and seen many places.He managed to make Carrie see these things as if they were there, while keeping her always aware of himself.

It was impossible for her not to be for a moment unaware of his personality, and of the man in front of her.He would emphasize something with a small smile, slowly opening his eyes, and she was attracted like a stone.He draws his voice too, eliciting her approval with great delicacy.Once, he touched her hand for emphasis, and she just smiled.He seemed to radiate an aura that pervaded her.He never seemed dull for a moment and seemed to brighten her up.At least she was radiant under his influence, and the good side of her was revealed.She felt that she was wiser with him than with other people.At least he seemed to find so much to admire in her.There is no color of grace in it.And Drouet was full of it.

Every time they met, whether in Drouet's presence or in his absence, there was always an element of intimacy and delicacy which Carrie could not speak of without feeling a little embarrassed.She is not good at talking.She was never good at putting her thoughts in order.She's always emotional, and it's both intense and deep.Every time she spoke, she couldn't say a single word of great significance.As to the meaning of a look, of a feeling, what woman would say it? Nothing like this had ever occurred between her and Drouet.In fact, they couldn't possibly do that.When Carrie commits herself to Drouet, she is forced by poverty, and Drouet just at that time represents the power of zeal for salvation.An undercurrent of emotion, which Drouet would never understand, was dominating her now.Hurstwood's eyes were as touching as a lover's words of love, and even more touching.It does not call for an immediate decision, nor is there anything to answer it.

People tend to place too much emphasis on the importance of language.They are an illusion, thinking that speaking will produce great results.As it stands, language is, as a rule, the most obvious of all arguments.The language only vaguely expresses the rushing emotions and desires hiding behind.When the mess of thoughts caused by the tongue is gone, the heart is listening to everything.

In this conversation, she heard not his words but the voices of those he stood for.How attractive is his appearance.How touching was the expression of his grandeur! His growing desire for her lay like a tender hand on her heart.She needn't have shuddered at all because it was invisible.And she didn't have to worry about what people would say--and what she would say--because it was incorporeal.Someone was begging her, persuading her, leading her to deny the old rights and replace them with new ones, but there was no words to prove all this.This intoxicating conversation stood to their actual mental activity as the muffled tones of a symphony stand to the drama which it accompanies.

"Have you seen any of the houses on Lakeside Drive in the North End?" asked Hurstwood.

"Well, just went this afternoon—Mrs. Hale and I. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes, very beautiful," he replied.

"Oh, dear," said Carrie thoughtfully, "I wish I could live in a place like that."

"You're not happy," Hurstwood said slowly, after a short pause.

He raised his eyes gravely and looked straight into hers.He thought he was stirring a deeply buried heartstring.Now I have a small opportunity to say something to myself.He leaned back silently, still gazing at her.He sensed the critical juncture of this time.She tried to move, but couldn't.The whole body and mind of a man is at work.His good reason told himself to work harder.He looked at her, and he still looked at her. The more this scene continued, the more he couldn't get rid of it.The young working woman fell into deep water.She let the few life buoys float away from her.

"Oh," she said afterward, "don't you look at me like that."

"I can't help it myself," he replied.

She relaxed a little, but let the scene go on, which encouraged him.

"You're dissatisfied with life, aren't you?"

"No." She replied weakly.

He saw clearly that the situation was in his hands - he felt it.

He reached out and stroked her hand.

"Don't do that," she yelled, jumping up.

"I didn't mean to," he answered calmly.

She could have run away, but she didn't.She didn't stop the conversation, but all at once he was dreaming.Before long, he got up to go.She, too, felt that he held the initiative.

"You don't have to have a hard time," he said kindly, "it will get better after a while."

She didn't answer because she couldn't think of an answer.

"We're good friends, aren't we?" he said, holding out his hand.

"Yes," she replied.

"Then don't say anything to anyone until I see you next time."

He continued to hold her hand.

"I can't agree to that." She said doubtfully.

"You must be more generous," he said, with an honesty that touched her.

"Stop talking about this man," she replied.

"Okay." He said brightly.

He went down the steps and got into the carriage.Carrie closed the door and went upstairs to her room.In front of the mirror she undid the wide lace neckline and the beautiful alligator belt she had recently bought.

"I'm in a terrible situation," she said, deeply annoyed and ashamed. "It seems like I'm not doing anything right."

After a while, she untied her hair, letting it hang loosely in brown waves.The events of the evening were replaying in her mind.

"I don't know," she whispered afterwards, "what should I do."

"Oh," said Hurstwood to himself, as he rode off in the carriage, "she must like me; I know that."

For the full four miles to the office, the excited manager happily hummed an old song that hadn't been hummed in 15 years.

(End of this chapter)