Her
aunt's knitting needles clicked loudly. The young man told a tale of some
football game, or if he had already gone out into the world, talked of his
experiences as a traveler selling the wares manufactured or merchandized by
his father. Such visits all began at the same hour, eight o'clock, and the
young man left the house promptly at ten. Clara grew to feel that she was
being merchandized and that they had come to look at the goods. One evening
one of the men, a fellow with laughing blue eyes and kinky yellow hair,
unconsciously disturbed her profoundly. All the evening he talked just as
the others had talked and got out of his chair to go away at the prescribed
hour. Clara walked with him to the door. She put out her hand, which he
shook cordially. Then he looked at her and his eyes twinkled. "I've had
a good time," he said. Clara had a sudden and almost overpowering desire
to embrace him. She wanted to disturb his assurance, to startle him by
kissing him on the lips or holding him tightly in her arms. Shutting the
door quickly, she stood with her hand on the door-knob, her whole body
trembling. The trivial by-products of her age's industrial madness went
on in the next room. The sheets of paper rustled and the knitting needles
clicked. Clara thought she would like to call the young man back into the
house, lead him to the room where the meaningless industry went endlessly
on and there do something that would shock them and him as they had never
been shocked before.
Pages:
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186