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Updated: June 13, 2025
The Greek lady of the Periclean age was a domestic prisoner and drudge." Section 3. Then, late in the afternoon, came Corydon; and this part of the adventure must have seemed stranger yet to the Channings.
Year by year, on one excuse or another, an outpost, a foot or two, would be abandoned and left to be reclaimed by the weeds. They were the assailants now. And there came a time when they had him at bay, a beaten man, in a patch of not more than fifty square feet, the centre of his former domain. "Time, not Corydon," had conquered him.
He went sick, all at once; and Corydon sank down upon the bed. "Well?" he asked, in a hoarse voice. "It's true," she said. "And what did he say?" "He said he said I was in splendid shape, and that I would have a fine baby!" And Thyrsis stared at her, and then suddenly burst into wild laughter, and hid his head in his arms.
"Are you sure you can?" she asked. "Oh, Corydon!" he cried, "you've no idea how wonderful it is the book, I mean. You'll be amazed! It kept growing on me all the time I got new visions of it. That was why it took me so long. I didn't dare to appreciate it, while I was doing it I had to keep myself at work, you know; but now that it's done, I can realize it.
He had provided her with a revolver, that she might feel safe when she was left alone; and now he bounded out of bed and sprang across the room, and found her with the weapon pointed at her head. He struck it away; and Corydon, with a terrified cry, clutched at him and collapsed in his arms. "Oh Thyrsis!" she wailed. "Save me! Save me!" "What is it?" he gasped.
Thyrsis took that for the sign of a liberal attitude, but Corydon corrected him with a shrewd observation "She's so sure of her own truth she can't believe in the reality of any other. She knows I'll come to Jesus with her some day!"
He had to summon up his courage and nerve himself for yet another climb; and Corydon would have to face the prospect of another winter in the "soap-box in a marsh". It was now November, and Thyrsis had written nothing but Socialist manifestoes for six months. He was restless and chafing again; but living in distress as they were, he could not get his thoughts together at all.
And then the editor put the "great piece of literature" away in his desk, and forgot all about it for a month while Thyrsis waited, day by day, in an agony of suspense. The appointed time had come the day when Corydon must go to the hospital; and still the editor had not reported, and there was only fifteen or twenty dollars, earned by weeks of verse-writing and reviewing.
"I couldn't hide things from her," laughed Corydon, "But she says I can make a Socialist out of her, and she'll make a Christian out of me!" His reply was, "Wait until she discovers the sensuous temperament!" But Corydon answered that Delia Gordon had a sensuous temperament also. "She seemed to me like a Joan of Arc.
It has been our habit to talk things out between us frankly; but this is a truth from which we have shrunk instinctively. I have always seen it as the seed of what must grow to be a bitter tragedy. "The possibility that Corydon might come to love some other man was one that I had not thought of it was very stupid of me, no doubt.
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