“... the pretty village of Estallenchs, backed by great grey cliffs, and with a valley in front opening down to the sea.”
(page [74])
“The light streaming through the great outer door revealed the usual spotless interior of a Majorcan house.”
(page [75])
The following morning a cheerful jingle of bells announces the arrival of our good Pépé and the victoria; the approach to the inn being too narrow for a carriage to pass, our belongings are carried up to the main road and there bestowed upon the box. Village dames look on from their doorways and nod affably, and one of them invited us to come in while waiting for the carriage to be packed, and took the deepest interest in our proceedings when we proposed photographing her room—only regretful that her floor was not yet covered with the tiles she showed us stacked in readiness. The only light streamed through the great stone archway of the outer door, and revealed the usual spotless interior of a Majorcan house, the walls snowy with repeated coats of whitewash. Good string-seated chairs and stools were ranged neatly round the room, and on the shelves stood the graceful water-jars in daily use among the people. Boxwood spoons and forks hung in a rack by the chimney corner, and over a clear fire of almond-shells upon the hearth bubbled a pot of bean soup; nothing would content the good housewife but that we should taste it—and most excellent it was. Everything about the place was tidy and exquisitely clean.
You might search in Majorca for a long time I fancy before you would find a slattern.