Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія
Chapter VIII
Wegowuntodie,wegowuntovindPopper.Weaindtgowuntobehongryenymore.”
“Vairwegonow?”demandedHilda.
“Noplaces.Mommer’ssohtiredt.Westopheir,leedlewhile,endrest.”
Underneathalargebushthataffordedalittleshelterfromthewind,Mrs.Hoovenlaydown,takingHildainherarmsandwrappinghershawlabouther.Theinfinite,vastnightexpandedgiganticallaroundthem.Atthiselevationtheywerefarabovethecity.Itwasstill.Closeoverheadwhirledthechariotsofthefog,gallopinglandward,smotheringlights,blurringoutlines.Soonallsightofthetownwasshutout;eventhesolitaryhouseonthehilltopvanished.Therewasnothingleftbutgrey,wheelingfog,andthemotherandchild,alone,shiveringinalittlestripofdampground,anislanddriftingaimlesslyinemptyspace.
Hilda’sfingerstouchedaleaffromthebushandinstinctivelycloseduponitandcarriedittohermouth.
“Mammy,”shesaid,“I’meatingthoseleaf.Isthosegood?”
Hermotherdidnotreply.
“Yougoingtosleep,Mammy?”inquiredHilda,touchingherface.
Mrs.Hoovenrousedherselfalittle.
“Hey?Vatyousay?Asleep?Yais,IguessIwassasleep.”
Hervoicetrailedunintelligiblytosilenceagain.Shewasnot,however,asleep.Hereyeswereopen.Agratefulnumbnesshadbeguntocreepoverher,apleasingsemi-insensibility.Shenolongerfeltthepainandcrampsofherstomach,eventhehungerwasceasingtobite.
“Thesestuffedartichokesaredelicious,Mrs.Gerard,”murmuredyoungLambert,wipinghislipswithacornerofhisnapkin.
