american tragedy

Chapter 157 (2)
Chapter 332 (2)
And, to do him justice, shouldn't it? That he would never, under any circumstances, succumb to a terrible idea or plot to kill anyone, much less Talk about a girl like Roberta, unless he is insane or even mad.But would the Bridgeburg jury, hearing this plea, consider it unworthy of consideration at all? Would the appeals court think the same? Probably not.But was that a real thought? Was he all wrong? Or what? If he explained it to the Reverend Macmillan, or whoever it was, could they point it out to whomever? He was going to tell him this, perhaps to confess it all, to make it all clear for himself.And, besides, this: having conspired for Sandra (God knows this, if no one else knows), he was incapable of carrying it out.Also, this was not brought up during the interrogation, because at that time, since the falsified defense was used, the real situation was not allowed to be brought up for explanation, but that should be forgiven, isn't it? Otherwise, McMee Would Reverend Lun think so? In Jefferson's view, he had to tell a lie.However, the real situation, should it be discounted because of this?

He understood now, and often mused, that there were parts of it which involved certain tangles and misgivings in his vicious, savage plot, which it was not easy to untangle.Perhaps the two worst things were: first taking Roberta to such a place on the lake, such a desolate place, and then, because she was not capable of doing bad things, becoming weak and very angry with herself, and scared her to stand. It seems that, for this reason, he was at least partially guilty of the blow--was it after all? From this point of view, it was a fierce and criminal blow.Maybe.What would the Reverend Macmillan seem to say on this point, and since she fell into the water, was she not guilty of falling into the water? The idea, the fact that he was actually partly guilty , causing him to be very distressed now.Whatever Oberworth said at the interrogation about his swimming away from her, that if she fell into the water unintentionally, even if she refused to save her, it was on his part , there is no crime.

But now he thinks (especially as he's thought about Roberta all the way up to this moment) that it's a crime anyway, isn't it? God—Macmillan—wasn't it? Would he see it that way? Besides, Mason had pointed out shrewdly during the interrogation: there was no doubt that he might have been able to rescue her in the first place.If he was Sandra or Working People or even Roberta last summer.Moreover, afraid of the thought of her dragging him into the water. (Since Macmillan wants him to repent and obey God, he has many lying in bed, arguing and reasoning with himself.) Yes, he has to admit all these things to himself.If this was Sandra, it was clear that he would immediately try to save her life.That being the case, he would have to confess it, if he confessed it to Macmillan, or to anyone, if at all, probably to everyone.But once he repents in this way, will he be condemned? Does he want to condemn himself now, so he will ruin his life?

No, no, maybe it's better to wait, at least until the appeals court decides his case before explaining why.Why did God put his case in jeopardy when he already knew the truth? He was really upset.He now realized how terrible it all was, what misery and misery he had caused besides Roberta's tragic death.But...but...isn't life still sweet? Oh, if only he could escape this calamity! Oh, if only he could get out of here and never see, hear, or feel such terrible terror that now looms over him .Such a late night, such a late dawn.Such a long night, those sighs, those moans.

The torment of the day, the torment of the night, had driven him almost mad; and, perhaps, he had gone mad already.If it weren't for a Macmillan who seemed loyal to him, and who was sometimes so touching and reassuring, he would have liked to sit down with him one day, here or somewhere, and talk about everything. Tell him, ask him to say whether he is really guilty, and if so, and if so, ask him to pray for him.He sometimes firmly believed that before this God, the prayers of his mother and Macmillan were more effective than his own prayers.Somehow, he couldn't pray now.Sometimes he heard Macmillan praying, so soft, so harmonious, that the voice went right through the iron bars.Or else, reading Galatians, Thessalonians, Corinthians, reading those words, he felt, he really felt, he really had to tell him everything and Tell him right away.

However, the days passed.Then, one day, six weeks later, when Reverend Duncan, because of Clyde's silence about himself, was beginning to despair of being able to influence him and lead him to the right path of repentance and salvation, Sandra came I wrote a letter, or just a note.It was from the warden's office, brought to him by the prison's Protestant priest, Preston Keefe, but it was not signed.The letter paper used was tricky, and according to the prison regulations, it had already been opened and read. However, in the opinion of the warden and Pastor Kifford, both thought that the content of this letter was more of mercy and punishment than others, and , this letter is obviously sent by a famous, or notorious, lady in this case, although there is no way to prove it.So after a proper show to him.Perhaps, as a lesson, it is worthwhile, the way of criminals.So, after a long and bleak summer (he had been here for nearly a year), one day in late autumn, the letter was delivered to him.He accepted the letter.

Although the letter was typed, undated, unaddressed, and had a New York postmark on the envelope, it was somehow perceptible that it might be from her.He became very nervous, and even his hands trembled slightly.Then I watched it.For many days after this, he read and read "Clyde, I am writing to you so that you will not think that you have been completely forgotten as your sweetheart. She also suffered a lot." , although she will never understand how you did such a thing. But even now, she will never be free and happy again."

However, there was no signature, and there was no trace of her handwriting.She was afraid to sign her name.Moreover, in terms of her state of mind, she is too far away from him now, and she doesn't want him to know where she is now.New York! It may have been sent to New York from somewhere else, though.And she didn't want him to know, and she never wanted to let him know, that he was going to die here later.He might die here.His last hope, his dream, the last shadow, was gone too.Gone forever! When the faintest twilight in the west also faded away, night came at last.First there was a pink, hazy light, and then there was darkness.

He sat on the iron bed.His eyes were on the ugly stripes of the prison uniform, and on his gray felt shoes.A felon, these stripes, these shoes, this prison door.So unpredictable and yet such a letter came.All the dreams are over! And for this dream, he was so desperate, he wanted to get rid of Roberta, and even reached the point where he was determined to kill her.This! This! He fumbled with the letter, then remained motionless.Maybe she has changed after such a period of time.Maybe she was just a little bit fascinated by him at first.Then, no doubt, those appalling revelations about him wiped out her earlier affection for him.She is free.She has beauty and money.At this moment, someone else...

He got up and walked to the door of the cell, trying to suppress his grief.On the opposite side, the cell where the prisoner used to live is now shutting up a black man—Hua Ti Higgins.It is said that he killed a waiter in a restaurant because the waiter refused to serve him food and insulted him every inch of the way.Next door to him was a young Jew.While robbing a jewelry store, he killed the owner.But after waiting here to die, he completely collapsed. From morning to night, he mostly just sat on the bed with his head in his hands.Clyde could see them both clearly from where they were standing now, the Jew holding his head.But the black person on the bed, with his legs crossed, smoking a cigarette, is still singing...

Ah, the big wheel is turning... hum!

Ah, the big wheel is turning... hum!

Ah, the big wheel is turning... hum!

For me! For me!

Clyde couldn't get rid of those thoughts in his mind, so he turned around again.

Executed, he, Sandra also finished.He felt it.Bye now. "Although she will never see you again." He fell on the bed, not to cry, he felt too tired to rest.Lycurgus! Lake Four.Laugh...kiss...smile.What was it like last fall?And now... a year later.

But then, the young Jew.Whenever he couldn't bear the pain in his heart, he hummed a religious tune.But, at this moment, how appropriate is the tune.

"I've been evil. I've been cruel, I've lied, ah! ah! ah! I've been dishonest. I've always been wicked. I've been with sinners. Ah! ah! ah! I've stolen I have always been hypocritical. I have always been cruel! Ah! Ah! Ah!

And the voice of Big Tom Looney.He was sentenced to death for killing Thomas Teague, who had robbed him of a prostitute as his wife.For Christ's sake! I know you're upset.But so do I.Ah, for Christ's sake, stop it!

Clyde was lying on the bed, his heart was ups and downs, and he was singing along with the Jew silently, "I have always been evil, I have always been cruel, I have lied. Ah! Ah! Ah! I have always been hypocritical, I I have always been cruel, and I have murderous intentions. Ah! Ah! Ah! And, for what? A futile—illusory dream! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! …

An hour later, the policeman put the supper on the shelf by the door, and he moved! Half an hour later, the policeman came again.The supper was still there, untouched, like the Jew's, and he took it away without a word.When blue-eyed devils crawled onto these caged people, the police officers knew they couldn't eat them.Moreover, sometimes even the police officers can't eat.

(End of this chapter)