sister carrie

Chapter 24 (2)

Chapter 13 His certificate of trust was accepted: mixed feelings of surprise and surprise (2)
However, as soon as she stepped into the room, her look gave him courage.She is simple and charming enough to inspire the drive in any lover.Her obviously flustered expression drove away his own feeling completely.

"How do you do," he said, looking calm, "it's such a fine afternoon that I can't help but want to see you."

"Yes," said Carrie, stopping in front of him, "I was just thinking of going for a walk by myself."

"Oh, is it?" said he, "then you take your hat, and we'll go together, shall we?"

They walked through the park and along Washington Avenue, a wide gravel road with a beautiful view of the large timber-framed houses lining the sidewalk.Many well-to-do families in the West End lived on this road, and Hurstwood couldn't help but feel uneasy about being easily noticed here.They had only walked a few blocks, and there was a sign for a cab on the side street, which solved a problem for him.He was going to take her for a drive along the new road.

At the time the new road was little more than a small country lane.The area he was going to take her to visit was far away from the west district, and there were almost no people along the way.This road connects Russ Park with Washington or South Suburb Park.It was a very neatly made road that went south for about five miles over an open, overgrown field, then turned east over the same field for about the same distance.Most of the time along the way, you won't even see a house, and you won't be interrupted when you talk.

In the stable he picked out a good-natured horse, and in a moment he was where no one would see or hear him.

"Can you ride a horse?" he said after a while.

"Never tried," said Carrie.

He put the bridle in her hand and folded his hands across his chest.

"You see, it's not very difficult," he said with a smile.

"Is the horse docile?" said Carrie.

"With a little practice you can handle any horse," he said encouragingly.

He had been thinking of an opportunity to turn the conversation to a serious subject.Once or twice he was silent, hoping that in the silence her thoughts would take on the color of his.But she continued quietly on the original subject.Before long, though, his silence brought the situation under control.His thinking was beginning to have an impact.He stared blankly, not at a certain fixed place, as if he was thinking about something that had nothing to do with her.However, his thinking is also very clear.She knew full well that an orgasm was imminent.

"You know," he said, "the happiest night I've had in ages since I've known you."

"Really?" she said, with affected briskness, but the certainty of his tone excited her nonetheless.

"I meant to tell you the night before," he went on, "but I somehow missed the opportunity."

Carrie listened and made no attempt to answer.She could find nothing worth saying.Since the last time she had seen him, she had been vaguely disturbed by thoughts of whether she should or should not.But now, the idea of ​​having a good impression of him has once again raised its head.

"I'm going out today," he continued solemnly, "to tell you what's on my mind—whether you'd like to listen to me."

Hurstwood was a Romantic of his type.His emotions can be deep—often poetic—and when driven by desire, as in the present, he can speak eloquently.That is to say, his emotions and tone of voice are full of oppression and mournfulness, and this is the key to his touching words.

"You know," he said, with one hand on her arm, and a characteristic silence in search of the right words, "do I love you?"

Carrie was silent at these words.She was completely immersed in the atmosphere of this man.He wanted to maintain that church-like silence, in order to better express his affection, and she also maintained this silence.She did not lift her eyes from the empty landscape.Hurstwood waited a moment, then repeated the sentence again.

"You mustn't say that," she said weakly.

There was nothing in her words that could be believed to be true.Those words were said only because of a vague sense of what to say.He didn't care about it at all.

"Carrie," he said, calling her name affectionately, "I want you to love me. I don't know how much I need someone to spare a little affection for me. How lonely I really am. There is nothing in my life that is joyful or joyful. It is all about work and worrying about people who have nothing to do with me."

In saying this, Hurstwood really thought he was in a very miserable position.He had the ability to stand aside, keep a distance, and look at himself objectively—to see what he needed in life.Now, when he spoke in this way, there was a peculiar vibrato in his voice.It went straight to the heart of his female companion.

"Well, I think," she said, turning her large eyes to him with sympathy and affection, "you should be very happy. You've seen so much."

"That's exactly what happened," he said, his voice softening and deepening. "I see too much."

It was a big deal for her to hear someone of such position and power speak to her in this way.She could not help feeling how strange her situation was.In such a short period of time, the narrow life in the country quickly fell to the ground like an old rag from her body, and the great city, with all its mysteries, replaced the old rag: What's going on? Right in front of me is the biggest mystery: this rich and powerful man is sitting beside her, begging her.See, he lives comfortably, and is powerful, and high, and finely dressed, and yet he is begging her.She couldn't figure out the right way of thinking.She no longer bothered about it.She just basked in his affectionate warmth, as grateful as a cold person is by a roaring fire.Hurstwood was flushed with his own ardor, and the flames of his ardor had melted away like wax all the hesitation of his girlfriend.

"You think," said he, "that I'm happy; that I shouldn't complain, don't you? If you hang out all day with people who have absolutely nothing to do with you, if you hang out in one place day after day , there's nothing there but showmanship and indifference; and if, of all your acquaintances, there's no one you can ask for a little sympathy with, or enjoy talking with: perhaps you'll be unhappy, too."

He plucked a string, enough to arouse her sympathy in her own situation.She also knows what it's like to hang out with people who are indifferent, to walk alone in a crowd that doesn't care about you.Wasn't she just like that? Wasn't she lonely at this moment? Of all the people she knew, who could she tell? Not a single one.She was the only one who felt sorry for herself.

"I could be content, too," went on Hurstwood, "if only you could love me. If only I could come to you; have you for company. Now it is: I just drift from place to place. In the other place, there is no satisfaction at all. I just live like a year. Before you came, I was just dawdling and living day by day. Once you came—I was only thinking about you."

Her early fantasies of someone needing her helping hand arose again in Carrie.She did pity the sad, lonely man.Just think of all his wonderful situations that would be bleak without her; think of her alone and helpless, and he had to beg for love from someone like her what.Yeah, the situation is too bad.

"I'm not a very bad person," he said apologetically, as if it was his duty to explain it to her. "Perhaps you think I've been fooling around with all kinds of vices, don't you? I'm not without recklessness, but I can easily jump out. I need you to give me a hand, and my life will be a little bit better. .”

Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which a virtuous man possesses when he is determined to save another from evil.How could such a man need to be saved? What wrongs could she correct in him? Since everything was so good, it must have been only small mistakes.At most, it is nothing more than a wrong thing covered with golden light, and for the wrong thing covered with golden light, isn't it very clear how the forgiving heart should look at it?
He pictured himself so lonely that she was deeply moved.

"Is that so?" she said thoughtfully.

He put his arms around her waist, and she couldn't bear to let go.He reached out his free hand again and took her fingers.A gust of warm spring breeze blows, rolling up a few dead branches that fell off last autumn.The horses lazily walked forward, and no one was driving them.

"Say," he said softly, "say you love me."

She lowered her eyes deliberately.

"Tell yourself, dear," he said affectionately, "you love me, don't you?"

She didn't answer, but he felt he had won.

"Tell me," he said enthusiastically, pulling her closer so their lips were close.He took her hand tenderly, then let go to touch her cheek.

"You love me?" he said, kissing her lips.

Her lips answered.

"Ah," he said cheerfully, his fine eyes sparkling, "you're my baby, aren't you?"

She rested her head lightly on his shoulder in further reply.

(End of this chapter)