An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖
- Author: Theodore Dreiser
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Frequently after the New Year’s Eve trip to Schenectady, which proved to be an outing of real import to both Clyde and Sondra—seeing that on that occasion she drew nearer to him affectionately than ever before—it was Sondra herself who chose to pick him up in her car. He had actually succeeded in impressing her, and in a way that most flattered her vanity at the same time that it appealed to the finest trait in her—a warm desire to have someone, some youth like Clyde, who was at once attractive and of good social station, dependent upon her. She knew that her parents would not countenance an affair between her and Clyde because of his poverty. She had originally not contemplated any, though now she found herself wishing that something of the kind might be.
However, no opportunity for further intimacies occurred until one night about two weeks after the New Year’s party. They were returning from a similar affair at Amsterdam, and after Bella Griffiths and Grant and Bertine Cranston had been driven to their respective homes, Stuart Finchley had called back: “Now we’ll take you home, Griffiths.” At once Sondra, swayed by the delight of contact with Clyde and not willing to end it so soon, said: “If you want to come over to our place, I’ll make some hot chocolate before you go home. Would you like that?”
“Oh, sure I would,” Clyde had answered gayly.
“Here goes then,” called Stuart, turning the car toward the Finchley home. “But as for me, I’m going to turn in. It’s way after three now.”
“That’s a good brother. Your beauty sleep, you know,” replied Sondra.
And having turned the car into the garage, the three made their way through the rear entrance into the kitchen. Her brother having left them, Sondra asked Clyde to be seated at a servants’ table while she brought the ingredients. But he, impressed by this culinary equipment, the like of which he had never seen before, gazed about wondering at the wealth and security which could sustain it.
“My, this is a big kitchen, isn’t it?” he remarked. “What a lot of things you have here to cook with, haven’t you?”
And she, realizing from this that he had not been accustomed to equipment of this order before coming to Lycurgus and hence was all the more easily to be impressed, replied: “Oh, I don’t know. Aren’t all kitchens as big as this?”
Clyde, thinking of the poverty he knew, and assuming from this that she was scarcely aware of anything less than this, was all the more overawed by the plethora of the world to which she belonged. What means! Only to think of being married to such a girl, when all such as this would become an everyday state. One would have a cook and servants, a great house and car, no one to work for, and only orders to give, a thought which impressed him greatly. It made her various self-conscious gestures and posings all the more entrancing. And she, sensing the import of all this to Clyde, was inclined to exaggerate her own inseparable connection with it. To him, more than anyone else, as she now saw, she shone as a star, a paragon of luxury and social supremacy.
Having prepared the chocolate in a commonplace aluminum pan, to further impress him she sought out a heavily chased silver service which was in another room. She poured the chocolate into a highly ornamented urn and then carried it to the table and put it down before him. Then swinging herself up beside him, she said: “Now, isn’t this chummy? I just love to get out in the kitchen like this, but I can only do it when the cook’s out. He won’t let anyone near the place when he’s here.”
“Oh, is that so?” asked Clyde, who was quite unaware of the ways of cooks in connection with private homes—an inquiry which quite convinced Sondra that there must have been little if any real means in the world from which he sprang. Nevertheless, because he had come to mean so much to her, she was by no means inclined to turn back. And so when he finally exclaimed: “Isn’t it wonderful to be together like this, Sondra? Just think, I hardly got a chance to say a word to you all evening, alone,” she replied, without in any way being irritated by the familiarity, “You think so? I’m glad you do,” and smiled in a slightly supercilious though affectionate way.
And at the sight of her now in her white satin and crystal evening gown, her slippered feet swinging so intimately near, a faint perfume radiating to his nostrils, he was stirred. In fact, his imagination in regard to her was really inflamed. Youth, beauty, wealth such as this—what would it not mean? And she, feeling the intensity of his admiration and infected in part at least by the enchantment and fervor that was so definitely dominating him, was swayed to the point where she was seeing him as one for whom she could care—very much. Weren’t his eyes
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