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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 236/416
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“
No
,
no
,
NO
,
”
she
exclaimed
.
“
I
’
m
as
well
as
I
ever
was
in
all
my
life
.
Look
at
me
.
Now
,
tell
me
,
do
l
look
likee
a
sick
lady
?
”
He
scrutinised
her
face
distressfully
.
“
Now
,
don
’
t
I
look
the
picture
of
health
?
”
she
challenged
.
“
In
a
way
you
do
,
”
he
began
,
“
and
then
again
—
—
”
Hilma
beat
a
tattoo
with
her
heels
upon
the
floor
,
shutting
her
fists
,
the
thumbs
tucked
inside
.
She
closed
her
eyes
,
shaking
her
head
energetically
.
“
I
won
’
t
listen
,
I
won
’
t
listen
,
I
won
’
t
listen
,
”
she
cried
.
“
But
,
just
the
same
—
—
”
“
Gibble
—
gibble
—
gibble
,
”
she
mocked
.
“
I
won
’
t
Listen
,
I
won
’
t
listen
.
”
She
put
a
hand
over
his
mouth
.
“
Look
,
here
’
s
the
dining
-
car
waiter
,
and
the
first
call
for
supper
,
and
your
wife
is
hungry
.
”
They
went
forward
and
had
supper
in
the
diner
,
while
the
long
train
,
now
out
upon
the
main
line
,
settled
itself
to
its
pace
,
the
prolonged
,
even
gallop
that
it
would
hold
for
the
better
part
of
the
week
,
spinning
out
the
miles
as
a
cotton
spinner
spins
thread
.
It
was
already
dark
when
Antioch
was
left
behind
.
Abruptly
the
sunset
appeared
to
wheel
in
the
sky
and
readjusted
itself
to
the
right
of
the
track
behind
Mount
Diablo
,
here
visible
almost
to
its
base
.
The
train
had
turned
southward
.
Neroly
was
passed
,
then
Brentwood
,
then
Byron
.
In
the
gathering
dusk
,
mountains
began
to
build
themselves
up
on
either
hand
,
far
off
,
blocking
the
horizon
.
The
train
shot
forward
,
roaring
.
Between
the
mountains
the
land
lay
level
,
cut
up
into
farms
,
ranches
.
These
continually
grew
larger
;
growing
wheat
began
to
appear
,
billowing
in
the
wind
of
the
train
’
s
passage
.
The
mountains
grew
higher
,
the
land
richer
,
and
by
the
time
the
moon
rose
,
the
train
was
well
into
the
northernmost
limits
of
the
valley
of
the
San
Joaquin
.
