Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Andthen,inthemidstofthegentleperfumesofthegarden,theperfumesofthemagnoliaflowers,ofthemignonetteborders,ofthecrumblingwalls,thereexpandedanewodour,orthefaintminglingofmanyodours,thesmelloftherosesthatlingeredinherhair,oftheliliesthatexhaledfromherneck,oftheheliotropethatdisengageditselffromherhandsandarms,andofthehyacinthswithwhichherlittlefeetwereredolent,Andthen,suddenly,itwasherself—hereyes,heavy-lidded,violetblue,fulloftheloveofhim;hersweetfulllipsspeakinghisname;herhandsclaspinghishands,hisshoulders,hisneck—herwholedearbodygivingitselfintohisembrace;herlipsagainsthis;herhandsholdinghishead,drawinghisfacedowntohers.

           Vanamee,asherememberedallthis,flungoutanarmwithacryofpain,hiseyessearchingthegloom,allhismindinstrenuousmutinyagainstthetriumphofDeath.Hisglanceshotswiftlyoutacrossthenight,unconsciouslyfollowingthedirectionfromwhichAngeleusedtocometohim.

           “Cometomenow,”heexclaimedunderhisbreath,tenseandrigidwiththevastfutileeffortofhiswill.“Cometomenow,now.Don’tyouhearme,Angele?Youmust,youmustcome.”

           SuddenlyVanameereturnedtohimselfwiththeabruptnessofablow.Hiseyesopened.Hehalfraisedhimselffromtheground.Swiftlyhisscatteredwitsreadjustedthemselves.Nevermoresane,nevermorehimself,herosetohisfeetandstoodlookingoffintothenightacrosstheSeedranch.

           “Whatwasit?”hemurmured,bewildered.