Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Iwasafraidyoumightnotbegettingalong,andIwantedtoseeiftherewasanythingIcoulddo.HowareyourmotherandHilda?Whereareyoustopping?Haveyougotagoodplace?”

           “Idon’tknowwheremammais,”answeredMinna.“Wegotseparated,andIneverhavebeenabletofindheragain.”

           Meanwhile,PresleyhadbeentakinginwithaquickeyethedetailsofMinna’ssilkdress,withitsgarnitureoflace,itsedgingofvelvet,itssilverbelt-buckle.Herhairwasarrangedinanewwayandonherheadwasawidehatwithaflaretooneside,setoffwithagiltbuckleandapuffofbrightblueplush.Heglancedathersharply.

           “Well,but—buthowareyougettingon?”hedemanded.

           Minnalaughedscornfully.

           “I?”shecried.“Oh,I’VEgonetohell.Itwaseitherthatorstarvation.”

           Presleyregainedhisroomattheclub,whiteandtrembling.Worsethantheworsthehadfearedhadhappened.Hehadnotbeensoonenoughtohelp.Hehadfailedagain.Asuperstitiousfearassailedhimthathewas,inamanner,marked;thathewasforedoomedtofail.Minnahadcome—hadbeendriventothis;andhe,actingtoolateuponhistardyresolve,hadnotbeenabletopreventit.Werethehorrors,then,nevertoend?Wasthegrislyspectreofconsequencetoforeverdanceinhisvision?Weretheresults,thefar-reachingresultsofthatbattleattheirrigatingditchtocrosshispathforever?Whenwouldtheaffairbeterminated,theincidentclosed?Wherewasthatspottowhichthetentacleofthemonstercouldnotreach?

           Bynow,hewassickwiththedreadofitall.