By Theodore Dreiser
The vintage depiction of the tough realities of yankee lifestyles, the darkish aspect of the yank Dream, and one man's doomed pursuit of affection and success... "Mr. Dreiser isn't really imitative and belongs to no college. he's at middle a mysticist and a fatalist, notwithstanding utilizing the sensible technique. he's, at the facts of this novel on my own, a power."-The long island instances e-book evaluation
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Additional info for An American Tragedy (Signet Classics)
And now all he was thinking was that he would only need to work from noon until six, when he should be free until the following morning at six. And then he would make more money. A lot of it to spend on himself. Chapter 8 The thing that most interested Clyde at first was how, if at all, he was to keep the major portion of all this money he was making for himself. For ever since he had been working and earning money, it had been assumed that he would contribute a fair portion of all that he received—at least three-fourths of the smaller salaries he had received up to this time—toward the upkeep of the home.
A lot of it to spend on himself. Chapter 8 The thing that most interested Clyde at first was how, if at all, he was to keep the major portion of all this money he was making for himself. For ever since he had been working and earning money, it had been assumed that he would contribute a fair portion of all that he received—at least three-fourths of the smaller salaries he had received up to this time—toward the upkeep of the home. But now, if he announced that he was receiving at least twenty-five dollars a week and more—and this entirely apart from the salary of fifteen a month and board—his parents would assuredly expect him to pay ten or twelve.
And the floor was covered by a bright red thick carpet, over which were strewn many gilt chairs. At the back, before some very bright red hangings, was a gilded upright piano. But of guests or inmates there seemed to be none, other than the black girl. “Jest be seated, won’t you? Make yourselves at home. ” And, running upstairs to the left, she began calling: “Oh, Marie! Sadie! Caroline! ” And at that moment, from a door in the rear, there emerged a tall, slim and rather pale-faced woman of about thirty-eight or forty— very erect, very executive, very intelligent and graceful-looking— diaphanously and yet modestly garbed, who said, with a rather wan and yet encouraging smile: “Oh, hello, Oscar, it’s you, is it?