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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 401/416
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“
Well
,
Presley
,
”
said
the
railroad
agent
:
“
I
guess
I
won
’
t
see
you
again
.
”
“
I
hope
not
,
”
answered
the
other
.
“
Tut
,
tut
,
Presley
,
you
know
you
can
’
t
make
me
angry
.
”
He
put
on
his
hat
of
varnished
straw
and
wiped
his
fat
forehead
with
his
handkerchief
.
Of
late
,
he
had
grown
fatter
than
ever
,
and
the
linen
vest
,
stamped
with
a
multitude
of
interlocked
horseshoes
,
strained
tight
its
imitation
pearl
buttons
across
the
great
protuberant
stomach
.
Presley
looked
at
the
man
a
moment
before
replying
.
But
a
few
weeks
ago
he
could
not
thus
have
faced
the
great
enemy
of
the
farmers
without
a
gust
of
blind
rage
blowing
tempestuous
through
all
his
bones
.
Now
,
however
,
he
found
to
his
surprise
that
his
fury
had
lapsed
to
a
profound
contempt
,
in
which
there
was
bitterness
,
but
no
truculence
.
He
was
tired
,
tired
to
death
of
the
whole
business
.
“
Yes
,
”
he
answered
deliberately
,
“
I
am
going
away
.
You
have
ruined
this
place
for
me
.
I
couldn
’
t
live
here
where
I
should
have
to
see
you
,
or
the
results
of
what
you
have
done
,
whenever
I
stirred
out
of
doors
.
”
“
Nonsense
,
Presley
,
”
answered
the
other
,
refusing
to
become
angry
.
“
That
’
s
foolishness
,
that
kind
of
talk
;
though
,
of
course
,
I
understand
how
you
feel
.
I
guess
it
was
you
,
wasn
’
t
it
,
who
threw
that
bomb
into
my
house
?
”
“
It
was
.
”
“
Well
,
that
don
’
t
show
any
common
sense
,
Presley
,
”
returned
S
.
Behrman
with
perfect
aplomb
.
“
What
could
you
have
gained
by
killing
me
?
”
