Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Thegroupbrokeup,themenmakingforthedoor.Onebyonetheywentout.ThelasttogowasKeast.HecameuptoMagnusandshooktheGovernor’slimphand.

           “Good-bye,Governor,”hesaid.“I’llseeyouagainprettysoon.Don’tletthisdiscourageyou.They’llcomearoundallrightafterawhile.Solong.”

           Hewentout,shuttingthedoor.

           Andseatedintheonechairoftheroom,MagnusDerrickremainedalongtime,lookingathisfaceinthecrackedmirrorthatforsomanyyearshadreflectedthepaintedfacesofsoubrettes,inthisatmosphereofstaleperfumeandmouldyricepowder.

           Ithadcome—hisfall,hisruin.Aftersomanyyearsofintegrityandhonestbattle,hislifehadendedhere—inanactress’sdressing-room,desertedbyhisfriends,hissonmurdered,hisdishonestyknown,anoldman,broken,discarded,discredited,andabandoned.Beforenightfallofthatday,Bonnevillewasfurtherexcitedbyanastonishingbitofnews.S.Behrmanlivedinadetachedhouseatsomedistancefromthetown,surroundedbyagroveofliveoakandeucalyptustrees.Atalittleafterhalf-pastsix,ashewassittingdowntohissupper,abombwasthrownthroughthewindowofhisdining-room,explodingnearthedoorwayleadingintothehall.Theroomwaswreckedandnearlyeverywindowofthehouseshattered.Byamiracle,S.Behrman,himself,remaineduntouched.