Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Helookedaroundhimfromsidetoside,asiftogetintouchwithrealityoncemore.Helookedathishands,attheroughbarkofthepeartreenextwhichhestood,atthestreakedandrain-erodedwallsoftheMissionandgarden.Theexaltationofhismindcalmeditself;theunnaturalstrainunderwhichhelabouredslackened.Hebecamethoroughlymasterofhimselfagain,matter-of-fact,practical,keen.

           Butjustsosureashishandswerehisown,justsosureasthebarkofthepeartreewasrough,themoulderingadobeoftheMissionwallsdamp—justsosurehadSomethingoccurred.Itwasvague,intangible,appealingonlytosomestrange,namelesssixthsense,butnonethelessperceptible.Hismind,hisimagination,sentoutfromhimacrossthenight,acrossthelittlevalleybelowhim,speedinghitherandthitherthroughthedark,lost,confused,hadsuddenlypaused,hovering,hadfoundSomething.Ithadnotreturnedtohimempty-handed.Ithadcomeback,butnowtherewasachange—mysterious,illusive.Therewerenowordsforthisthathadtranspired.Butforthemoment,onethingonlywascertain.Thenightwasnolongervoiceless,thedarkwasnolongerempty.Faroffthere,beyondthereachofvision,unlocalised,strange,aripplehadformedonthestillblackpoolofthenight,hadformed,flashedoneinstanttothestars,thenswiftlyfadedagain.Thenightshutdownoncemore.Therewasnosound—nothingstirred.

           Forthemoment,Vanameestoodtransfixed,struckrigidinhisplace,stupefied,hiseyesstaring,breathlesswithutteramazement