Excerpt: ...I agree to carry it up the steps myself, if he'll only leave it for a quarter! Next you must picture me breaking my back and tearing my fingers and the damned wall paper-while the damned frowsy-headed landlady yells and the damned frowsy-headed boarders stick out their heads! And so in the end I get into my steaming hot room and shut ...Read MoreExcerpt: ...I agree to carry it up the steps myself, if he'll only leave it for a quarter! Next you must picture me breaking my back and tearing my fingers and the damned wall paper-while the damned frowsy-headed landlady yells and the damned frowsy-headed boarders stick out their heads! And so in the end I get into my steaming hot room and shut the door and fall down on the bed and burst into tears. O God, the stings of this bitter, haunting, horrible poverty! The ghastly weight that has hung about my neck since ever I can remember! Oh, shall I ever be free from it? Shall I ever know what it is to have what I ought to have, to think of my work without the intrusion of these degrading pettinesses? They are so infinite, so endless, so hideous! The thing gets to be a habit of my thoughts; my whole nature is steeped and soaked in it-in filthy sordidness! I plot and I plan all the day-I can not buy a newspaper without hesitating and debating-I am like a ragpicker going about the streets! Sometimes the thing goads me so that I think I must go mad-when I think of the time that I lose, of the power, of the courage! I walk miles when I am exhausted, to save a car-fare! I wear ragged collars and chafe my neck! I stand waiting in foul-smelling grocery shops with crowds of nasty people! I cook what I eat in a half-dirty frying-pan because I can not afford to pay the servant to wash it! So it is that I drag myself about-chafing and goaded-crouching and cringing like a whipped cur! My God, when will I be free? My God! My God! -The boarding-houses that I have been in! The choice collection of memories that I have stored away in my mind, memories of boarding-houses! The landladies' faces-the assorted stenches-the dark hallways-the gabbling, quarreling, filthy, beer-carrying tenants! Oh, I wring my hands and something clutches me in my heart! Let me go! Let me go! Six times in the course of my life, when I have been starved sick on my own...Read Less
Good. Privately Printed. 12 mo. Pasadena: Upton Sinclair, 1933. Privately printed by the author, third edition. 12mo. Trade paperback, 207 pp. Sinclair's effort to bypass the media companies. Lacking front advertising pages. Good.
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