Love's Pilgrimage: A Novel by Upton Sinclair

Love's Pilgrimage: A Novel by Upton Sinclair

Author:Upton Sinclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Upton Sinclair, muckraking, satire, injustice, investigative journalism, American, political, social, justice, corruption, capitalism, socialism, society, historical, American classic
Publisher: Sovereign Classic
Published: 2016-05-27T00:00:00+00:00


BOOK X. THE END OF THE TETHER

They sat still watching upon the hill-top, drinking in the scent of the clover.

“Ah, if only we might have come back here!” she sighed. “If only tee had never had to leave!”

“That way lies unhappiness” he said.

“Perhaps,” she answered; and then quoted—

‘Yet, Thyrsis, let me give my grief its hour

In the old haunt, and find our tree-topp’d hill!

Who, if not I, for questing here hath power?”

“I wonder,” said he, “if the poet put as much into these stanzas as we find in them!”

Section 1. Through the summer Corydon had been living week by week upon the hope that her husband would be able to send for her; all through the fall she had been dreaming of the arrangements they would make for the winter. But by now it had become clear that they would have to be separated for a part of the winter as well. She had sent him long letters, full of hopes and yearnings, anxieties and rebellions; but in the end she had brought herself to face the inevitable. And then it transpired that even a greater sacrifice was required of her—she was to be forbidden to see Thyrsis at all! If a man did not support his wife, said the world, it was common-sense that he should not have any wife; that was the quickest way to bring him to his senses. And so the two had threshed out that problem, and chosen their course; they would live in the same city, and yet confine themselves to writing letters!

A curious feeling it gave Thyrsis, to know that she was so near to him, and yet not to be going to meet her! He could not endure any part of the city where he had been with her, and got himself a hall bedroom on the edge of a tenement-district far up town. Then he had his shoes shined, and purchased a clean collar, and wrote Miss Ethelynda Lewis that he was ready to call. While he was waiting to hear from her, there came to him a strange adventure; assuredly one of the strangest that ever befell a struggling poet, in a world where many strange adventures have befallen struggling poets.

For six months Thyrsis had not seen his baby; and there had come in the meantime so many letters, telling so many miraculous things about that baby! So many dreams he had dreamed about it, so many hopes and so many prayers were centered in it! Twenty-two hours had he sat by the bedside when it was born; and through all the trials that had come afterwards, how he had suffered and wept for it! Now his heart was wrung with longing to see it, to touch it—his child. He wrote Corydon that he could not stand it; and Corydon wrote back that he was right—he should surely see the baby. And so it was arranged between them that Thyrsis was to be at a certain place in the park, and she would send the nurse-girl there with little Cedric.



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