Flush, colorful cheeks, a light moustache, a gray fedora hat. All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of her eye. “And so this is your first visit to Chicago,” he observed. You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?” “Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and proceeded to make himself volubly agreeable. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain sense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of the individual, born of past experience and triumphs, prevailed. He had been fidgeting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain interest growing in that quarter. For some time she had been conscious of a man behind. The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. “That,” said a voice in her ear,” is one of the prettiest little resorts in Wisconsin.” And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. In the intuitive graces she was still crude. Books were beyond her interest knowledge a sealed book. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain native intelligence she was a fair example of the middle American class two generations removed from the emigrant. It was nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Self-interest with her was high, but not strong. Of an intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility.Ĭaroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. When a girls leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift review until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague conjectures of what Chicago might be. What pray, is a few hours a few hundred miles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister’s address and wondered. Columbia City was not so very far away, even once she was in Chicago. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very trains which came up daily. To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend and return. A gush of tears at her mother’s farewell kiss, mill where her father worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of the village passed in review and the threads which bound her so lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken. Whatever touch of regret at parting characterized her given up.
#Into the wild book sister full
She was eighteen years or age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions of ignorance and youth. When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse, containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister’s address in Van Buren Street, and four dollar in money. The Magnet Attracting: A Wife amid Forces
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