Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter V
Annixterstoodforamomentthoughtful,hisprotrudinglowerlipthrustout,hishandsinhispocket.
“Isupposeshe’llquitnow,”hemuttered.“Supposeshe’llleavetheranch—ifshehatesmelikethat.Well,shecango—that’sall—shecango.Foolfeemalegirl,”hemutteredbetweenhisteeth,“petticoatmess.”HewasabouttositdowntohissupperwhenhiseyefellupontheIrishsetter,onhishaunchesinthedoorway.Therewasanexpectant,ingratiatinglookonthedog’sface.Nodoubt,hesuspecteditwastimeforeating.
“Getout—YOU!”roaredAnnixterinatempestofwrath.
Thedogslunkback,histailshutdownclose,hisearsdrooping,butinsteadofrunningaway,helaydownandrolledsupinelyuponhisback,theveryimageofsubmission,tame,abject,disgusting.ItwastheonethingtodriveAnnixtertoafury.Hekickedthedogofftheporchinarollingexplosionofoaths,andflunghimselfdowntohisseatbeforethetable,fumingandpanting.
“Damnthedogandthegirlandthewholerottenbusiness—andnow,”heexclaimed,asasuddenfanciedqualmaroseinhisstomach,“now,it’sallmademesick.Mighthaveknownit.Oh,itonlylackedthattowindupthewholeday.Lethergo,Idon’tcare,andthesoonerthebetter.”
Hecountermandedthesupperandwenttobedbeforeitwasdark,lightinghislamp,onthechairneartheheadofthebed,andopeninghis“Copperfield”attheplacemarkedbythestripofpapertornfromthebagofprunes.Forupwardofanhourhereadthenovel,methodicallyswallowingonepruneeverytimehereachedthebottomofapage.
