Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter VII
Derrick,”saidPresley,comingforward,“don’tgoin.”
“Whereismyhusband?”demandedHilma.
Presleyturnedawayandsteadiedhimselfagainstthejambofthedoor.
Hilma,leavingMrs.Derrick,enteredthehouse.Thefrontroomwasfullofmen.ShewasdimlyconsciousofCyrusRugglesandS.Behrman,bothdeadlypale,talkingearnestlyandinwhisperstoCutterandPhelps.Therewasastrange,acridodourofanunfamiliardrugintheair.Onthetablebeforeherwasasatchel,surgicalinstruments,rollsofbandages,andablue,oblongpaperboxfullofcotton.Butabovethehushednoisesofvoicesandfootsteps,oneterriblesoundmadeitselfheard—theprolonged,raspingsoundofbreathing,halfchoked,laboured,agonised.
“Whereismyhusband?”shecried.Shepushedthemenaside.ShesawMagnus,bareheaded,threeorfourmenlyingonthefloor,onehalfnaked,hisbodyswathedinwhitebandages;thedoctorinshirtsleeves,ononekneebesideafigureofamanstretchedoutbesidehim.
Garnettturnedawhitefacetoher.
“Whereismyhusband?”
Theotherdidnotreply,butsteppedasideandHilmasawthedeadbodyofherhusbandlyinguponthebed.Shedidnotcryout.Shesaidnoword.Shewenttothebed,andsittinguponit,tookAnnixter’sheadinherlap,holdingitgentlybetweenherhands.Thereaftershedidnotmove,butsatholdingherdeadhusband’sheadinherlap,lookingvaguelyaboutfromfacetofaceofthoseintheroom,while,withoutasob,withoutacry,thegreattearsfilledherwide-openedeyesandrolledslowlydownuponhercheeks.
