Chapter 37 Chapter Thirty-Seven

At first, Philip was not bored because the work was fresh.Mr. Carter dictated letters to him, and he had to copy and transcribe the financial statements. Mr. Carter wished to keep the office more gentlemanly; he had no love for typewritten manuscripts, and he had absolutely no love for shorthand.The trade union shorthand, but only Mr. Goodworthy makes use of his specialty.Philip often went with an old clerk to check the accounts of a certain firm, and he gradually found out the details of the customers: which customers should be respected, and which customers were in a bad situation, and the position was very tight.From time to time people handed him long lists of accounts to count.In order to cope with the first exam, he had to attend lectures.Mr. Goodworthy had repeatedly told him that the trade was dull at first, but he would get used to it by degrees.Philip got off work at six and walked across the river to Waterloo.When he got to the apartment, supper was ready for him.He stayed at home all night and read a book.Every Saturday afternoon, he went to the National Gallery for a walk.Heyward had introduced him to a guidebook, compiled from Ruskin's works, and Philip held it in his hand, and went tirelessly from one showroom to another: he first Carefully study the critic's comments on a famous painting, and then follow the picture, examine the picture, and never stop until you find out the essence of the painting.It was quite difficult to pass the time on Sunday.He had no acquaintance in London, and often had to pass the day alone.Mr. Nixon, the lawyer, had invited him to Hampstead one Sunday, and Philip spent the day happily among a company of lively strangers.After drinking and eating, I went for a walk in the park.When he was leaving, the master asked him to come and play again when he was free.But he was afraid that his visit would disturb the host family, so he has been waiting for a formal invitation.Needless to say, he never waited again, because the Nixon family was always full of friends, and they would never have thought of such a lonely, taciturn young man, and they owed him nothing.Therefore, he always gets up very late on Sundays, and then takes a walk on the towpath by the river.The Thames at Barnes is dirty and muddy, rising and falling with the tide.There was neither the fascinating beauty of the upper reaches of the locks, nor the spectacular spectacle of the waves behind the London Bridge.In the afternoon he wandered about on the common lawn.It was gray and dirty, too, neither country nor town; the gorse grew small and stunted, and all the clutter of the civilized world lay in sight. (He was always going to a play on Saturday nights, and would stand for an hour or so with great interest by the balcony door.) After the museum closed, go to A. B． C．It was still too early for dinner in the cafe, and it didn't seem worthwhile to go back to Barnes during this time.I really don't know how to pass the time.He walked along Securities Street for a while, or strolled on Burlington Archway. When he was tired, he went to sit in the park for a while, and if it rained, he went to the public library in St. Martin Street to read a book.He looked at the bustling pedestrians on the road, and envied that they all had relatives and friends who were against each other.Sometimes this kind of envy will turn into hatred, because they are so happy, but they are so miserable.He never imagined that living in such a big downtown would feel so lonely.Sometimes he stood by the balcony door to watch a play, and the spectators beside him wanted to strike up a conversation with him. Philip, out of the inherent suspicion of bumpkins towards strangers, would always be indifferent in his answers, so that the other party couldn't catch them. , I can't continue the conversation.After the play, he had to keep his impressions in his stomach, and hurried across the bridge to Waterloo District.When I got back to my apartment—in order to save some money, I didn't even want to start a fire in the room——I was extremely disheartened and lazy.Life was horribly bleak.He began to loathe the lodging house, and the long, dreary nights he passed there.Sometimes he was so lonely that he could not even read a book, and he would sit in the room for hours and hours, staring into the fire, in great misery.

He had now been living in London for three months, and, apart from that Sunday in Hampstead, he had at best spoken to his colleagues in the office.One evening, Watson invited him to a restaurant for dinner, and after dinner they went to a vaudeville theater together, but he felt timid and uncomfortable.Watson talked eloquently, and talked about things that did not interest him.In his opinion, Watson is naturally a market guy, but he can't help but admire him.He felt angry, because Watson obviously did not take his cultural accomplishment seriously, but when he reassessed himself according to the evaluation of others, he couldn't help but despise his own knowledge that he always thought was not insignificant.For the first time in his life he felt ashamed to be poor.His uncle sent him fourteen pounds a month, and he had to buy a lot of clothes with this money.The evening dress alone cost him five guineas.He dared not tell Watson that he had bought the evening dress in Riverside Street.Watson had said that there was only one really decent tailor in all of London.

"I suppose you can't dance," Watson said one day, casting a glance at Philip's limp. "No," said Philip. "Too bad I was asked to take some dancing guys to a prom. Otherwise, I could have introduced you to some nice chicks." Once or twice Philip didn't really want to go back to Barnes, so he stayed in the city and wandered into the night.At this time, he found a mansion in which a social party was being held.Standing behind the servants among the ragged crowd, he watched the guests come and listened to the music that wafted from the window.Sometimes a man and a woman, despite the cool night, would come out on the balcony for a while to get a breath of fresh air, and Philip thought they must be lovers in love.He turned around quickly, and with a heavy heart, he limped and continued to walk forward.That man was lucky, but he himself would never have such a day.He felt that there was no woman in the world who would not really dislike his disability.

It reminded him of Miss Wilkinson.Even thinking of her didn't make me feel relieved.It had been agreed when they parted that she would post the letter at Cherryn Cross before she knew his exact address.When Philip went to the post office to get the letters, he got three at once.She wrote in purple ink, on blue letterhead, and in French.Philip wondered to himself, why couldn't she write in English like a sensible woman?In spite of all her words she failed to move him in the slightest, for the wording of the letter reminded him of French novels.She blamed Philip for not writing to her, and he wrote back saying he was busy.At first he really didn't know what to use for the letter, and he didn't want to use "dearest" or "darling" when he said anything, and he didn't like to call her Emily, so he finally used "" Honey" such a heads up.It looked awkward and silly hanging there all by itself, but he used it anyway.This was the first love letter he had written in his life, and he knew it was bland.He felt that he should use all kinds of hot words to express his feelings, saying that he misses her all the time, how he longs to kiss her beautiful hands, how he feels his heartstrings when he thinks of her red lips. I can't stop trembling, wait.But instead of writing, out of some unspeakable cowardice, he just told her about his new lodgings and the place where he worked.The next return mail brought her reply, full of angry and bitter words of reproach: How could he be so ruthless!Didn't he know that she was waiting impatiently for his reply?She had given him all a woman could give, and this was what she had been paid for!Is he tired of her already?He hadn't answered for several days, and Miss Wilkinson's letters came upon him like a snowflake, asking the wrongdoer.She couldn't bear his ruthlessness; she hoped desperately for the swan geese to pass on the letter, but she never saw a word from him.Night after night, she fell asleep with tears in her eyes.She is now alone and haggard, and everyone is talking about it in private.If he didn't love her, why didn't he just say so?Then she said that once she lost him, she would not be able to live, and the only way out was to end her life.She accused him of being cruel, selfish, and ungrateful.All of this is written in French.Philip knew that she was doing it to show him off, and her letter, after all, made him very anxious.He didn't want to upset her.Not long afterward she wrote to say that she could no longer endure this longing for a foreign country, and was trying to come to London for Christmas.Philip hastened to write back, saying that he wished she could come, but he had already made an appointment with a friend to go to the country for Christmas, and he couldn't change his mind just now, could he?She wrote back that she didn't want to entangle him in a shameless way. It was obvious that he didn't want to see her.Her letters were so lingering that Philip could see the traces of tears on the paper.On the spur of the moment he wrote back, saying he was very sorry, and imploring her to come to London, and was not relieved until she wrote back, saying that he couldn't get out at the moment.After that, as soon as he received her letter, his heart turned cold, and he dared not open it for a long time.He knew that the contents of the letter were nothing more than angry reproaches, plus sad pleas.After reading these letters, he couldn't help but feel that he was a ruthless and heartless man, but he didn't understand what he should blame.He was reluctant to answer the letter for a long time, and he delayed it day by day, and then she sent another letter, saying that she was ill, feeling lonely and miserable.

"My God, I shouldn't have had anything to do with her in the first place!" he said. He admired Watson for the ease with which he handled such matters.Watson was engaged to a girl from the touring company, and Philip was astonished to hear his description of the affair in vivid detail.But after a while, Watson, who liked the new and disliked the old, changed his mind.One day he told Philip how he had broken up with the girl. "I don't think there's any advantage in being indecisive in such matters. I told her straight to the point, I'm tired of playing with you," he said.

"She didn't make a scene?" asked Philip. "You know, of course it's inevitable. But I told her, don't do it with me, it's no use." "Is she crying?" "Starting to cry! But I have a headache for those crying girls, so I told her right away, it's better to be wise and slip away before it's too late." Philip's sense of humor became sharper as he got older. "She just slipped away with her tail between her legs?" He asked with a smile. "Hmm. What else does she have up her sleeve, huh?" Christmas is approaching day by day.Mrs. Carey had been ill all through November, and the doctor advised her and the Vicar to go to Cornwell for a few weeks around Christmas, so that she might recover.Now Philip had nowhere to go but to spend Christmas in his own flat.Under the influence of Hayward, Philip also accepted this statement: the festive activities at Christmas time are both vulgar and extravagant.So he made up his mind to ignore the festival.But when it really came to this university, the joyous festive atmosphere of every household made him feel sad and sad for no reason.The landlady and the husband were to be with their married daughter at the holidays, and Philip, so as not to trouble them, announced that he was going to dine out.It was nearly noon when he left for London, where he ate a slice of turkey and a Christmas pudding alone at Katie's.After dinner he was too idle, so he went to Westminster Abbey to go to midday service.The entire street was empty, even if there were three or two pedestrians, they all seemed to be in a thoughtful manner, rushing to a certain place, no one was wandering around, almost all of them were walking in groups.It seemed to Philip they were all happy beings, but he was alone, and never felt so alone.He had planned to spend the day anyway in the street and then go to a restaurant for dinner.But in the presence of these jubilant crowds--they were joking and having fun--he couldn't stay any longer, so he turned back to Waterloo and bought some ham and a few mince pies as he passed Westminster Bridge Road. , come back to Barnes.He swallowed some food indiscriminately in the deserted small room to satisfy his hunger, and at night he borrowed books to relieve his boredom, and he was almost unbearable under the pressure of all kinds of worries.

When returning to work in the office after the festival, Watson talked with relish about how he celebrated the short festival, which made Philip even more uncomfortable.There were some lively and lovely girls in their house, and after supper they vacated the living room and had a dance. "I played until three o'clock and didn't go to bed. Hey, I don't know how I got into bed. God, I was so drunk." At last Philip mustered up his courage and asked desperately: "How do people make friends in London?" Watson looked at him in surprise, and secretly felt that there was a bit of disdain in the funny look.

"Oh, what do I say. That's it. If you go dancing a lot, you'll get to know a lot of people at once, as many as you can handle." Philip has absolutely no affection for Watson, but he is willing to sacrifice everything he has in exchange for Watson's status.The feeling I experienced in school in the past quietly revived in my heart.He let himself get into other people's skins, imagining what kind of life he would lead if he were Watson.