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Updated: May 13, 2025
Drouet jumped from one easy thought to another as he caught Hurstwood's eye. He felt but very little misgiving, until he saw that Hurstwood was cautiously pretending not to see. Then some of the latter's impression forced itself upon him. He thought of Carrie and their last meeting. By George, he would have to explain this to Hurstwood.
Chicago!" called the brakeman, shamming open the door. They were rushing into a more crowded yard, alive with the clatter and clang of life. She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon her purse. Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip. "I suppose your people will be here to meet you?" he said.
Carrie imagined that he would marry her at once, though he had not directly said so, and her spirits rose. She proposed to make the best of the situation until Drouet left again. "Don't show any more interest in me than you ever have," Hurstwood counseled concerning the evening at the theatre. "You mustn't look at me steadily then," she answered, mindful of the power of his eyes.
" Oh, I can't get anything here." " They won't keep you?" he remarked, intuitively. " They can't" said Carrie. " I'll tell you what you do," he said. " You come with me. I'll take care of you." Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing.
He was mild, placid, assured, giving the impression that he wished to be of service only to do something which would make the lady more pleased. Drouet had ability in this line himself when the game was worth the candle, but he was too much the egotist to reach the polish which Hurstwood possessed. He was too buoyant, too full of ruddy life, too assured.
A thought will colour a world for us. The flow of Carrie's meditations had been disturbed, and Hanson had not long gone upstairs before she followed. She had realised with the lapse of the quarter hours that Drouet was not coming, and somehow she felt a little resentful, a little as if she had been forsaken was not good enough. She went upstairs, where everything was silent.
She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad of her release, wondering whether she would get something to do, wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixed for him beyond a peradventure. He could not help what he was going to do. He could not see clearly enough to wish to do differently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the old pursuing part.
If Hanson sat every evening in the front room and read his paper, if he went to bed at nine, and Minnie a little later, what would they expect of her? She saw that she would first need to get work and establish herself on a paying basis before she could think of having company of any sort. Her little flirtation with Drouet seemed now an extraordinary thing.
"You shouldn't have ever told me such a story as that." "But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some direct denial from her. "I won't talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn the peace arrangement had taken.
I sat down, staring at the dead man, and tried to collect my senses. So this fiendish criminal, who slew with poison, had been lurking in Vantine's house, and had struck down first Drouet and then the master of the house himself! But why why! It was incredible, astounding, my brain reeled at the thought. And yet it must be true!
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