Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter IV
“I’vefollowedyou’wayupheretohearit.I’vewaitedaroundinthesebeastly,draughtypicnicgroundsforoveraweektohearit.YouknowwhatIwanttohear,Hilma.”
“Well—Iforgiveyou,”shehazarded.
“Thatwilldoforastarter,”heanswered.“Butthat’snotIT.”
“Then,Idon’tknowwhat.”
“ShallIsayitforyou?”
Shehesitatedalongminute,then:
“Youmightn’tsayitright,”shereplied.
“Trustmeforthat.ShallIsayitforyou,Hilma?”
“Idon’tknowwhatyou’llsay.”
“I’llsaywhatyouarethinkingof.ShallIsayit?”
Therewasaverylongpause.Agoldfishrosetothesurfaceofthelittlepond,withasharp,ripplingsound.Thefogdriftedoverhead.Therewasnobodyabout.
“No,”saidHilma,atlength.“I—I—Icansayitformyself.I—”Allatoncesheturnedtohimandputherarmsaroundhisneck.“Oh,DOyouloveme?”shecried.“Isitreallytrue?Doyoumeaneverywordofit?AndyouaresorryandyouWILLbegoodtomeifIwillbeyourwife?Youwillbemydear,dearhusband?”
ThetearssprangtoAnnixter’seyes.Hetookherinhisarmsandheldherthereforamoment.Neverinhislifehadhefeltsounworthy,soundeservingofthisclean,puregirlwhoforgavehimandtrustedhisspokenwordandbelievedhimtobethegoodmanhecouldonlywishtobe.Shewassofarabovehim,soexalted,sonoblethatheshouldhavebowedhisforeheadtoherfeet,andinstead,shetookhiminherarms,believinghimtobegood,tobeherequal.Hecouldthinkofnowordstosay.
