Produced by Charles Franks, Charles Aldarondo, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team LOVE’S PILGRIMAGE A NOVEL By 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.