Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter IV
ShewasnumbtoallotherissuesthantheonequestionofDyke’scapture.Shedidnotanswertheirquestionsnorreplytotheiroffersofassistance.HilmaandAnnixterconferredtogetherwithoutloweringtheirvoices,atherveryelbow,whileshelookedvacantlyatthefloor,drawingonehandovertheotherinapersistent,maniacalgesture.Fromtimetotimeshewouldstartsuddenlyfromherchair,hereyeswide,andasifallatoncerealisingAnnixter’spresence,wouldcryout:
“Isthereanynews?”
“WhereisSidney,Mrs.Dyke?”askedHilmaforthefourthtime.“Isshewell?Isshetakencareof?”
“Here’sthelasttelegram,”saidMrs.Dyke,inaloud,monotonousvoice.“See,itsaysthereisnonews.Hedidn’tdoit,”shemoaned,rockingherselfbackandforth,drawingonehandovertheother,“hedidn’tdoit,hedidn’tdoit,hedidn’tdoit.Idon’tknowwhereheis.”
Whenatlastshecametoherself,itwaswithafloodoftears.Hilmaputherarmsaroundthepoor,oldwoman,asshebowedherselfagainuponthetable,sobbingandweeping.
“Oh,myson,myson,”shecried,“myownboy,myonlyson!IfIcouldhavediedforyoutohavepreventedthis.Irememberhimwhenhewaslittle.Suchasplendidlittlefellow,sobrave,soloving,withneveranunkindthought,neverameanaction.Soitwasallhislife.Wewereneverapart.Itwasalways’dearlittleson,’and’dearmammy’betweenus—neveroncewasheunkind,andhelovedmeandwasthegentlestsontome.AndhewasaGOODman.Heisnow,heisnow.Theydon’tunderstandhim.
