Chapter 20 Chapter 20 The Temptation of the Spirit: The Pursuit of the Flesh

Passion, when it occurs in a man like Hurstwood, always takes a violent form, never something brooding and dreamy. A man like him doesn't serenade outside a lover's window . . . He haggard or groaned when he encountered setbacks. At night, he couldn't sleep for a long time because he thought too much; he woke up early in the morning, and as soon as he woke up, he immediately thought about that sweet thing, thinking about it all the time. His whole body Uncomfortable, disturbed. Wasn't it enough to bother him that he liked his Carrie better on the one hand, and that he had Drouet on the other? No one in the world suffers more from being possessed by a salesman. In his view, as long as this triangle situation can be ended, if Carrie is willing to accept an arrangement to get rid of Drouet permanently and effectively, it is necessary for him to He is willing to pay any price.

"What to do?" he thought as he dressed. He walked about the bedroom he shared with his wife, ignoring her. At breakfast he found he had no appetite at all, and the meat that had been forked on his plate remained untouched. The coffee had cooled, but he continued to glance at the paper absently. Here and there he read a small story or two. news, but he couldn't remember anything after reading it. Jessica was still upstairs in the bedroom, and his wife sat on the other side of the table silently thinking about her own thoughts. There was a new maid recently, and today the new maid Forgot to prepare napkins. For this matter, his wife yelled loudly, irritatingly breaking the silence.

"I told you that, Maggie," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I won't remind you next time." Hurstwood glanced at his wife. She was frowning. Her present behavior irritated him greatly. Her next words were addressed to him: "George, have you decided when to go on vacation?" According to the old habit, they discuss their summer vacation plans every year in this season. "Not yet," said he, "I'm busy at the moment." "Well, if we're going to start, you'll have to make a quick decision, won't you?" she answered. "I don't think it will matter a few more days," he said.

"Well," she said, "don't wait until the vacation season is over to decide." She wriggled angrily as she said this. "Here you go again," he remarked. "From the way you talk, people will think I'm doing nothing." "Well, I must know your vacation dates," she repeated. "You can wait a few days," he insisted, "the race is not over, and you can't go anyway." He was annoyed that she had interrupted him by asking the question while he had something to think about. "We can go now. Jessica doesn't want to wait until the race is over."

"Then why did you want tickets for the whole season?" "Hmph!" she said with this hum, expressing her extreme annoyance. "I won't argue with you," she said, rising and leaving the table. "Well," he said, rising, "what's the matter with you? I can't talk to you?" The firmness of his tone stopped her. "Of course, you can talk to me," she answered, emphasizing the last two words. "Hmph, looking at you, that's not the case at all. Well, you have to know when I can leave... I can't leave this month, and maybe next month."

"Then we'll go ourselves." "You really think so, don't you?" he said sarcastically. "Yes, that's what we'll do." He was astonished at the woman's determination. But it annoyed him more. "Okay, let's wait and see. Judging from the recent situation, it seems that you want to give orders and do whatever you want. From the way you speak, you want to be my family. Humph, don't dream. You don't want to intervene and It's about me. If you want to go, go. You don't expect to make me go with words like that." He was burning with anger now. His black eyes twinkled with anger, and he crumpled up the newspaper and threw it aside. Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing more. Before he could finish, she turned to He went to the drawing room outside, and then went upstairs. He paused, as if hesitating. Then he sat down again, drank some coffee, then got up, and went to the first floor to get his hat and gloves.

His wife hadn't really expected the quarrel. She came down to breakfast in a bad mood, turning over a plan in her head. Jessica reminded her that Marseilles wasn't as much fun as they thought, and this year The racetrack did not offer much social opportunity. The beautiful lady found it tedious to go to the racecourse every day. This year the nobles left earlier than usual for their seaside and European vacations. Among the people she knew, several young people who interested her had already to Waukeshire. She then began to think that she must go too. Her mother was very much in favor of the idea.

Based on these thoughts, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to ask the question. She was thinking about it when she came to the table. But there was something wrong with the atmosphere for some reason. After the quarrel was over, she still could not understand how it came to be. But she is now sure that her husband is a rough man. Of course she will never let it go, she must let him treat her like a wife, or she will go to the bottom and find out the reason. On the part of the manager, he was still thinking about this new quarrel on the way to the office. From the office, he went to tryst with Carrie, and his mind was pretending to be a mixture of love, desire and resistance. Another complication. His thoughts flew ahead of him on eagle's wings, and he couldn't wait to see Carrie. After all, what was the night without her? What was the day? She had to It is and should be his.

For her part Carrie, since parting from him the night before, had lived in a world of imagination and emotion. Of Drouet's rambling and enthusiastic confession, she had listened only to the part which concerned her, As for his boast of having Carrie, she had no heart to listen to it. She kept as far away from him as possible, thinking only of her own success. She felt that Hurstwood's love made her success more gratifying, and she really Wondered what he would say about it. She was sorry for him, too, but there was a tinge of glee in that sadness, for Hurstwood's pain was itself a compliment. She was experiencing for the first time the transition from a That delicate change of feeling from a beggar to a giver. In short, she was very, very happy.

The next morning, however, the papers said nothing of the matter. The usual business of the day went on as usual, and the success of the previous evening was somewhat overshadowed. Drouet was now not so much talking of her success as of Said he was trying to please her. He felt instinctively that, for one reason or another, it was necessary for him to win Carrie back. "I'm going," he said, as he dressed in his room, before going up to the business district, "to get my little business in order this month, and then we'll get married. I talked to Mosh about it yesterday."

"No, you lied." She now had a little confidence and dared to joke with the salesman. "Really, I won't lie to you," he exclaimed, and it was the first time he had been so emotionally moved. He added, entreatingly, "Don't you believe me?" Carrie smiled. "Of course I do," she replied. Drouet was less sure of himself now. In spite of his poor sense of perception, he saw that things had changed beyond his little powers of analysis. Carrie was still with him, but not helpless any longer. She begged for mercy. There was a lightness in her voice that hadn't been there before. She no longer watched his every move with dependent eyes. The salesman felt the shadow of what was going to happen. It affected him. As a precaution against crisis, he began to make little courtesies and flattering remarks to Carrie. Not long after he had left, Carrie was making preparations for her appointment at Hurstwood. She made haste, was ready in no time, and hurried down the stairs. At the bend in the road she passed Drouet's. around, but neither of them saw each other. The salesman forgot to take some of the bills he wanted to deliver to the firm. He hurried up the stairs and rushed into the room, only to find that the apartment was being cleaned by the apartment maid. "Ha," he exclaimed, and again, half to himself, "is Carrie out?" "Is your wife? Yes, she was gone only two minutes." "It is strange," thought Drouet, "that she has not said a word to me. Where has she been?" He rummaged here and there, fumbled in the suitcase, found what he was looking for, and put it in his pocket. Then he turned his attention to the maid standing nearby, who was very handsome, Be kind to him. "What are you doing?" he asked with a smile. "Clean up the room," she said, stopping, wrapping the rag around her hands. "Tired?" "Not too tired." "I'll show you something." He said kindly, and coming over, he took out of his pocket a small lithograph card. It was issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On the card was a pretty girl, He is holding a striped sun umbrella in his hand. As long as you turn the small round dial behind the card, the color of the umbrella will change. There are some small cracks on the umbrella surface on the card, and red, yellow and blue changes from the small cracks. green color. "Very clever, isn't it?" he said, handing her the cards, and showing her how to play. "You've never seen anything like it before." "No, it's pretty," she said. "If you want it, you keep it," he said. "Your ring is very pretty," he said, touching a plain inlay on the hand on which she held the card. "Really?" "Really," he replied, taking her finger, pretending to examine the ring, "it is beautiful." In doing so, the bond between them was broken. He continued talking, pretending to forget that he was still holding her hand. But she soon withdrew her hand, took a few steps back, and leaned on the on the windowsill. "I haven't seen you for a long time," she said coquettishly, after refusing one of his eager advances, "you must be away." "Yes," said Drouet. "Are you going far away?" "Yes, quite far." "Do you like going out?" "Not much, you get tired of it after a while." "I wish I could go for a run outside," said the girl, looking out the window boredly. "How is your friend, Mr. Hurstwood?" she asked abruptly. From what she observed, the manager seemed a subject of great interest. "He's in this town. Why did you ask him?" "Oh, nothing. It's just that he hasn't been here since you came back." "How did you know him?" "He came here more than a dozen times in the last month, didn't I inform him each time?" "Don't talk nonsense," said the salesman casually, "he's only been here five or six times since we've lived here." "Really?" said the girl, smiling, "that's the only time you know." Drouet's tone was more serious than before, and he was not sure whether the girl was joking. "Naughty boy," he said, "why are you laughing so queerly?" "oh nothing?" "Have you seen him lately?" "Haven't seen it since you came home," she laughed. "Before this?" "Of course I have." "Do you come here often?" "Yes, almost every day." She was a gossip, and she wondered very much what the consequences of her words would be. "Who is he coming to see?" asked the lock pusher incredulously. "Mrs. Drouet." He was dumbfounded for a moment at this answer, and then he tried to hide his stupidity. "Well," he said, "so what?" "Nothing," replied the girl, tilting her head coquettishly. "He's an old friend," he went on, sinking deeper and deeper into the quagmire. Although he had lost interest for the time being, he would have continued this little flirtation, so he was relieved when the girl was called downstairs. "I must go," she said, walking away from him lightly. "See you later," he said with an air of annoyance at being interrupted. As soon as she was gone, he let his feelings show. He was never good at hiding his face. At this moment, all the perplexities and troubles he felt in his heart showed on his face. Carrie had received people so many times. He didn't say a word to him. Is this possible? Is Hurstwood lying? What does the maid mean by saying that? He felt that Carrie's expression was a little strange. , why did she look so disturbed? God, he remembered now. The whole thing was kind of weird. He sat down in a rocking chair to think better. He propped one foot on his knees, his brow furrowed, his thoughts racing rapidly. But Carrie wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. Good God, she couldn't possibly be deceiving him. She never did. By the way, she was very nice to him just last night, and so was Hurstwood. See Look at their behavior! He could hardly believe they were trying to trick him. He couldn't help talking to himself. "She behaves a little strangely sometimes. She dressed and went out this morning, but she never said a word." He scratched his head, and was about to go to the business district. His brows were furrowed. As he walked into the hall, he met the girl again. She was cleaning another room, and she wore a white dusting hat on her head. There was a kind smile on the chubby face. Seeing her smiling at him, he almost forgot all his troubles. He put his hand on her shoulder intimately, as if he was just passing by to say hello. "Is the anger gone?" She still asked a little mischievously. "I'm not angry," he replied. "I thought you were mad," she said, smiling. "Don't be joking," he said casually, "is it true?" "Of course," she answered. Then she said, with an air that wasn't intended to be discordant, "he's been here so many times, I thought you knew." Drouet gave up the idea of ​​concealing his thoughts from her; he no longer wished to appear indifferent. "Is he here at night?" he asked. "Come a few times. Sometimes they go out." "Evening?" "Yes, but you needn't be so angry." "I'm not angry," he said. "Has anyone else seen him?" "Of course," said the girl, as if it were nothing after all. "How long ago was this?" "Not long before your return." The salesman pinched his lips nervously. "Don't say anything about it, will you?" he said, taking the girl's arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I won't tell," she answered. "I don't worry about it?" "Well, that's it," he said, and went on, thinking seriously for the first time in his life. It was not entirely unthinking, however, that he had made a good impression on the maid. "I'll see what she has to say about it," he thought angrily, feeling undeservedly wronged. "My God, I must find out if she did it."