Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Shewasdressedneatlyenough,inablueclothskirtwithablueplushbelt,fairlydecentshoes,oncehermother’s,apinkshirtwaist,andjacketandastrawsailor.Shewas,inanunusualfashion,pretty.Evenhertroubleshadnotdimmedthebrightlightofherpale,greenish-blueeyes,norfadedtheastonishingrednessofherlips,norhollowedherstrangelywhiteface.Herblue-blackhairwastrim.Shecarriedherwell-shaped,well-roundedfigureerectly.Eveninherdistress,sheobservedthatmenlookedkeenlyather,andsometimesafterherasshewentalong.Butthisshenotedwithadimsub-consciousfaculty.TherealMinna,harassed,terrified,lashedwithathousandanxieties,keptmurmuringunderherbreath:

           “WhatshallIdo,whatshallIdo,oh,whatshallIdo,now?”

           Afteraninterminablewalk,shegainedKearneyStreet,andheldittillthewell-lighted,well-keptneighbourhoodoftheshoppingdistrictgaveplacetothevice-crowdedsaloonsandconcerthallsoftheBarbaryCoast.Sheturnedasideinavoidanceofthis,onlytoplungeintothepurlieusofChinatown,whenceonlysheemerged,panic-strickenandoutofbreath,afterahalfhourofnever-to-be-forgottenterrors,andatatimewhenithadgrownquitedark.

           OnthecornerofCaliforniaandDupontstreets,shestoodalongmoment,pondering.

           “IMUSTdosomething,”shesaidtoherself.“ImustdoSOMETHING.”Shewastiredoutbynow,andtheideaoccurredtohertoentertheCatholicchurchinwhoseshadowshestood,andsitdownandrest.Thisshedid.Theeveningservicewasjustbeingconcluded.