The Plastic Age Percy Marks (read full novel txt) đ
- Author: Percy Marks
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She in turn looked at him. He was much older than he had been a year before. Then he had been a boy; now he seemed a man. He had not changed particularly; he was as blond and young and clean as ever, but there was something about his mouth and eyes, something more serious and more stern, that made him seem years older.
âI donât want to lead you to hell, honey,â she replied softly. âI left Prom last year so that I wouldnât do that. I told you then that I wasnât good for youâ âbut Iâm different now.â
âI can see that. I donât know what it is, but youâre different, awfully different.â He leaned forward suddenly. âCynthia, shall we go over to Jersey and get married? I understand that one can there right away. Weâre both of ageâ ââ
âWait, Hugh; wait.â Cynthiaâs hands were tightly clasped in her lap. âAre you sure that you want to? Iâve been thinking a lot since I got your telegram. Are you sure you love me?â
He slumped back into his chair. âI donât know what love is,â he confessed miserably. âI canât find out.â Cynthiaâs hands tightened in her lap. âIâve tried to think this business out, and I canât. I havenât any right to ask you to marry me. I havenât any money, not a bit, and Iâm not prepared to do anything, either. As I wrote you, my folks want me to go to Harvard next year.â The mention of his poverty and of his inability to support a wife brought him back to something approaching normal again. âI suppose Iâm just a kid, Cynthia,â he added more quietly, âbut sometimes I feel a thousand years old. I do right now.â
âWhat were your plans for next year and after that until you saw me?â Her eyes searched his.
âOh, I thought Iâd go to Harvard a year or two and then try to write or perhaps teach. Writing is slow business, I understand, and teaching doesnât pay anything. I donât want to ask my father to support us, and I wonât let your folks. I lost my head when I suggested that we get married. It would be foolish. I havenât the right.â
âNo,â she agreed slowly; âno, neither of us has the right. I thought before you came if you asked me to marry youâ âI was sure somehow that you wouldâ âI would run right off and do it, but now I know that I wonât.â She continued to gaze at him, her eyes troubled and confused. What made him seem so much older, so different?
âDo you think we can ever forget Prom?â She waited for his reply. So much depended on it.
âOf course,â he answered impatiently. âIâve forgotten that already. We were crazy kids, thatâs allâ âyoungsters trying to act smart and wild.â
âOh!â The ejaculation was soft, but it vibrated with pain. âYou mean thatâ âthat you wouldnâtâ âwell, you wouldnât get drunk like that again?â
âOf course not, especially at a dance. Iâm not a child any longer, Cynthia. I have sense enough now not to forfeit my self-respect again. I hope so, anyway. I havenât been drunk in the last year. A drunkard is a beastly sight, rotten. If I have learned anything in college, it is that a man has to respect himself, and I canât respect anyone any longer who deliberately reduces himself to a beast. I was a beast with you a year ago. I treated you like a woman of the streets, and I abused Norry Parkerâs hospitality shamefully. If I can help it, Iâll never act like a rotter again, I hate a prig, Cynthia, like the devil, but I hate a rotter even more. I hope I can learn to be neither.â
As he spoke, Cynthia clenched her hands so tightly that the fingernails were bruising her tender palms, but her eyes remained dry and her lips did not tremble. If he could have seen her on some parties this last year.â ââ âŠ
âYou have changed a lot.â Her words were barely audible. âYou have changed an awful lot.â
He smiled. âI hope so. There are times now when I hate myself, but I never hate myself so much as when I think of Prom. Iâve learned a lot in the last year, and I hope Iâve learned enough to treat a decent girl decently. I have never apologized to you the way I think I ought to.â
âDonât!â she cried, her voice vibrant with pain. âDonât! I was more to blame than you were. Letâs not talk about that.â
âAll right. Iâm more than willing to forget it.â He paused and then continued very seriously, âI canât ask you to marry me now, Cynthiaâ âbutâ âbut are you willing to wait for me? It may take time, but I promise Iâll work hard.â
Cynthiaâs hands clenched convulsively. âNo, Hugh honey,â she whispered; âIâll never marry you. Iâ âI donât love you.â
âWhat?â he demanded, his senses swimming in hopeless confusion. âWhat?â
She did not say that she knew that he did not love her; she did not tell him how much his quixotic chivalry moved her. Nor did she tell him that she knew only too well that she could lead him to hell, as he said, but that that was the only place that she could lead him. These things she felt positive of, but to mention them meant an argumentâ âand an argument would have been unendurable.
âNo,â she repeated, âI donât love you. You see, youâre so different from what I
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