.. Allie lived--as good, as innocent as ever,
incomparably beautiful--sad-eyed, eloquent, haunting. From that
mighty thought sprang both Neale's exaltation and his activity. He
had loved her so well that conviction of her death had broken his
heart, deadened his ambition, ruined his life. But since, by the
mercy of God and the innocence that had made men heroic, she had
survived all peril, all evil, then had begun a colossal overthrow in
Neale's soul of the darkness, the despair, the hate, the
indifference. He had been flung aloft, into the heights, and he had
seen into heaven. He asked for nothing in the world. All-satisfied,
eternally humble, grateful with every passionate drop of blood
throbbing through his heart, he dedicated all his spiritual life to
memory. And likewise there seemed a tremendous need in him of
sustained physical action, even violence. He turned to the last
stages of the construction of the great railroad.
What fine comrades these hairy-breasted toilers made! Neale had
admired them once; now he loved them. Every group seemed to contain
a trio like that one he had known so well--Casey, Shane, and
McDermott. Then he divined that these men were all alike. They all
toiled, swore, fought, drank, gambled. Hundreds of them went to
nameless graves.
Pages:
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510