Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter IV
Bringherbacktoyou!IsthatthewayofGod?Ithoughtyouwereaman;thisisthetalkofaweak-mindedgirl.”
Vanameestirredabruptlyinhisplace,drawingalongbreathandlookingabouthimvaguely,asifhecametohimself.
“Youareright,”hemuttered.“IhardlyknowwhatIamsayingattimes.Buttherearemomentswhenmywholemindandsoulseemtoriseupinrebellionagainstwhathashappened;whenitseemstomethatIamstrongerthandeath,andthatifIonlyknewhowtousethestrengthofmywill,concentratemypowerofthought—volition—thatIcould—Idon’tknow—notcallherback—but—something——”
“Adiseasedanddistortedmindiscapableofhallucinations,ifthatiswhatyoumean,”observedSarria.
“PerhapsthatiswhatImean.PerhapsIwantonlythedelusion,afterall.”
Sarriadidnotreply,andtherewasalongsilence.Inthedampsouthcornersofthewallsafrogbegantocroakatexactintervals.Thelittlefountainrippledmonotonously,andamagnoliaflowerdroppedfromoneofthetrees,fallingstraightasaplummetthroughthemotionlessair,andsettlinguponthegravelledwalkwithafaintrustlingsound.Otherwisethestillnesswasprofound.
Alittlelater,thepriest’scigar,longsinceout,slippedfromhisfingerstotheground.Hebegantonodgently.Vanameetouchedhisarm.
“Asleep,sir?”
Theotherstarted,rubbinghiseyes.
“Uponmyword,IbelieveIwas.”
“Bettergotobed,sir.Iamnottired.IthinkIshallsitoutherealittlelonger.”
“Well,perhapsIwouldbebetteroffinbed.
