Saturday, February 4, 2012

an american tragedy

by Theodore Dreiser

But various voices - as Clyde entered the first door to cross to the
chair room, caling: 'Goodby, Clyde.'  And Clyde, with enough
earthly thought and strength to reply: 'Goodbye, all.'  But his
voice sounding so strange and weak even to himself, so far
distant as though it emanated from another being walking along-
side of him, and not from himself. And he was conscious of that
familiar shuffle-shuffle-as they pushed him on and on toward
that door.  Now it was here; now it was being opened.  There it
was-at last-the chair he had so often seen in his dreams-that he
so dreaded-to which he was now compelled to go.  He was
being pushed toward that-into that-on-on-through the door
which was now open-to recieve him-but which was a quickly
closed again on all the earthly life he had ever known.

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