Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           OnthebenchhehadquittedheandAngelehadoftensat.Herebythecrumblingsundial,herecalledthenightwhenhehadkissedherforthefirsttime.Here,again,bytherimofthefountain,withitsfringeofgreen,sheoncehadpaused,and,baringherarmtotheshoulder,hadthrustitdeepintothewater,andthenwithdrawingit,hadgivenittohimtokiss,allwetandcool;andhere,atlast,undertheshadowofthepeartreestheyhadsat,eveningafterevening,lookingoffoverthelittlevalleybelowthem,watchingthenightbuilditself,dome-like,fromhorizontozenith.

           BrusquelyVanameeturnedawayfromtheprospect.TheSeedranchwasdarkatthistimeoftheyear,andflowerless.Farofftowarditscentre,hehadcaughtabriefglimpseofthehousewhereAngelehadlived,andafaintlightburninginitswindow.Butheturnedfromitsharply.Thedeep-seatedtravailofhisgriefabruptlyreachedtheparoxysm.WithlongstrideshecrossedthegardenandreenteredtheMissionchurchitself,plungingintothecoolnessofitsatmosphereasintoabath.Whathesearchedforhedidnotknow,or,rather,didnotdefine.Heknewonlythathewassuffering,thatalongingforAngele,forsomeobjectaroundwhichhisgreatlovecouldenfolditself,wastearingathisheartwithironteeth.Hewasreadytobedeluded;cravedthehallucination;beggedpitifullyfortheillusion;anythingratherthantheempty,tenantlessnight,thevoicelesssilence,thevastlonelinessoftheoverspanningarcoftheheavens.