Loves Pilgrimage

Love's Pilgrimage

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Title: Love's Pilgrimage
Author: Upton Sinclair
Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5964] [Yes, we are more than one
year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 1, 2002]

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Language: English
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LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE
A NOVEL
Upton Sinclair
NEW YORK AND LONDON

CONTENTS


PART I
Love's Entaglement
BOOK I THE VICTIM BOOK II THE SNARE BOOK III THE
VICTIM HESITATES BOOK IV THE VICTIM APPROACHES
BOOK V THE BAIT IS SEIZED BOOK VI THE CORDS ARE
TIGHTENED BOOK VII THE CAPTURE IS COMPLETED

PART II
Love's Captivity
BOOK VIII THE CAPTIVE BOUND BOOK IX THE CAPTIVE IN
LEASH BOOK X THE END OF THE TETHER BOOK XI THE
TORTURE-HOUSE BOOK XII THE TREADMILL BOOK XIII THE
MASTERS OF THE SNARE BOOK XIV THE PRICE OF RANSOM
BOOK XV THE CAPTIVE FAINTS BOOK XVI THE BREAK FOR
FREEDOM

LOVE'S PILGRIMAGE

PART I
Loves Entanglement
BOOK I
THE VICTIM

It was in a little woodland glen, with a streamlet tumbling through it.
She sat with her back to a snowy birch-tree, gazing into the eddies of a
pool below; and he lay beside her, upon the soft, mossy ground,
reading out of a book of poems. Images of joy were passing before
them; and there came four lines with a picture--
"Hard by, a cottage-chimney smokes, From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savory dinner set."

"Ah!" said she. "I always loved that. Let us be Corydon and Thyrsis!"
He smiled. "They were both of them men," he said.
"Let us change it," she responded--"just between ourselves!"
"Very well--Corydon!" said he.
Then, after a moment's thought, she added, "But we didn't have the
cottage."
"No," said he--"nor even the dinner!"
Section 1. It was the Highway of Lost Men. They shivered, and drew
their shoulders together as they walked, for it was night, and a cold,
sleety rain was falling. The lights from saloons and pawn-shops fell
upon their faces--faces haggard and gaunt with misery, or bloated with
disease and sin. Some stared before them fixedly; some gazed about
with furtive and hungry eyes as they shuffled on. Here and there a
policeman stood in the shelter, swinging his club and watching them as
they passed. Music called to them from dives and dance-halls, and
lighted signs and flaring- colored pictures tempted them in the
entrances of cheap museums and theatres; they lingered before these,
glad of even a moment's shelter. Overhead the elevated trains pounded
by; and from the windows one could see men crowded about the stoves
in the rooms of lodging-houses, where the steam from their garments
made a blur in the air.
Down this highway walked a lad, about fifteen years of age, pale of
face, and with delicate and sensitive features. His overcoat was
buttoned tightly about his neck, and his hands thrust into his pockets;
he gazed around him swiftly as he walked. He came to this place every
now and then, but he never grew used to what he saw.
He eyed the men who passed him; and when he came to a saloon he
would push open the door and gaze about. Sometimes he would enter,
and hurry through, to peer into the compartments in the back; and then
go out again, giving a wide berth to the drinkers, and shrinking from

their glances. Once a girl appeared in a doorway, and smiled and
nodded to him; he started and hurried out, shuddering. Her wanton
black eyes haunted him, hinting unimaginable things.
Then, on a corner, he stopped and spoke to a policeman. "Hello!" said
the man, and shook his head--"No, not this