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- Фрэнк Норрис
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- Спрут: Калифорнийская история
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- Стр. 82/416
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The
Earth
that
only
that
morning
had
been
so
eager
,
so
responsive
to
the
lightest
summons
,
so
vibrant
with
Life
,
now
at
night
,
holding
death
within
its
embrace
,
guarding
inviolate
the
secret
of
the
Grave
,
was
deaf
to
all
entreaty
,
refused
the
Answer
,
and
Angele
remained
as
before
,
only
a
memory
,
far
distant
,
intangible
,
lost
.
Vanamee
lifted
his
head
,
looking
about
him
with
unseeing
eyes
,
trembling
with
the
exertion
of
his
vain
effort
.
But
he
could
not
as
yet
allow
himself
to
despair
.
Never
before
had
that
curious
power
of
attraction
failed
him
.
He
felt
himself
to
be
so
strong
in
this
respect
that
he
was
persuaded
if
he
exerted
himself
to
the
limit
of
his
capacity
,
something
—
he
could
not
say
what
—
must
come
of
it
.
If
it
was
only
a
self
-
delusion
,
an
hallucination
,
he
told
himself
that
he
would
be
content
.
Almost
of
its
own
accord
,
his
distorted
mind
concentrated
itself
again
,
every
thought
,
all
the
power
of
his
will
riveting
themselves
upon
Angele
.
As
if
she
were
alive
,
he
summoned
her
to
him
.
His
eyes
,
fixed
upon
the
name
cut
into
the
headstone
,
contracted
,
the
pupils
growing
small
,
his
fists
shut
tight
,
his
nerves
braced
rigid
.
For
a
few
seconds
he
stood
thus
,
breathless
,
expectant
,
awaiting
the
manifestation
,
the
Miracle
.
Then
,
without
knowing
why
,
hardly
conscious
of
what
was
transpiring
,
he
found
that
his
glance
was
leaving
the
headstone
,
was
turning
from
the
grave
.
Not
only
this
,
but
his
whole
body
was
following
the
direction
of
his
eyes
.
Before
he
knew
it
,
he
was
standing
with
his
back
to
Angele
’
s
grave
,
was
facing
the
north
,
facing
the
line
of
pear
trees
and
the
little
valley
where
the
Seed
ranch
lay
.
At
first
,
he
thought
this
was
because
he
had
allowed
his
will
to
weaken
,
the
concentrated
power
of
his
mind
to
grow
slack
.
And
once
more
turning
toward
the
grave
,
he
banded
all
his
thoughts
together
in
a
consummate
effort
,
his
teeth
grinding
together
,
his
hands
pressed
to
his
forehead
.
He
forced
himself
to
the
notion
that
Angele
was
alive
,
and
to
this
creature
of
his
imagination
he
addressed
himself
:
“
Angele
!
”
he
cried
in
a
low
voice
;
“
Angele
,
I
am
calling
you
—
do
you
hear
?
Come
to
me
—
come
to
me
now
,
now
.
”
Instead
of
the
Answer
he
demanded
,
that
inexplicable
counter
-
influence
cut
across
the
current
of
his
thought
.
Strive
as
he
would
against
it
,
he
must
veer
to
the
north
,
toward
the
pear
trees
.
Obeying
it
,
he
turned
,
and
,
still
wondering
,
took
a
step
in
that
direction
,
then
another
and
another
.
The
next
moment
he
came
abruptly
to
himself
,
in
the
black
shadow
of
the
pear
trees
themselves
,
and
,
opening
his
eyes
,
found
himself
looking
off
over
the
Seed
ranch
,
toward
the
little
house
in
the
centre
where
Angele
had
once
lived
.
Perplexed
,
he
returned
to
the
grave
,
once
more
calling
upon
the
resources
of
his
will
,
and
abruptly
,
so
soon
as
these
reached
a
certain
point
,
the
same
cross
-
current
set
in
.
He
could
no
longer
keep
his
eyes
upon
the
headstone
,
could
no
longer
think
of
the
grave
and
what
it
held
.
He
must
face
the
north
;
he
must
be
drawn
toward
the
pear
trees
,
and
there
left
standing
in
their
shadow
,
looking
out
aimlessly
over
the
Seed
ranch
,
wondering
,
bewildered
.
Farther
than
this
the
influence
never
drew
him
,
but
up
to
this
point
—
the
line
of
pear
trees
—
it
was
not
to
be
resisted
.
For
a
time
the
peculiarity
of
the
affair
was
of
more
interest
to
Vanamee
than
even
his
own
distress
of
spirit
,
and
once
or
twice
he
repeated
the
attempt
,
almost
experimentally
,
and
invariably
with
the
same
result
:
so
soon
as
he
seemed
to
hold
Angele
in
the
grip
of
his
mind
,
he
was
moved
to
turn
about
toward
the
north
,
and
hurry
toward
the
pear
trees
on
the
crest
of
the
hill
that
over
-
looked
the
little
valley
.
But
Vanamee
’
s
unhappiness
was
too
keen
this
night
for
him
to
dwell
long
upon
the
vagaries
of
his
mind
.
Submitting
at
length
,
and
abandoning
the
grave
,
he
flung
himself
down
in
the
black
shade
of
the
pear
trees
,
his
chin
in
his
hands
,
and
resigned
himself
finally
and
definitely
to
the
inrush
of
recollection
and
the
exquisite
grief
of
an
infinite
regret
.
