“Where it turn up thu Carmen Street, into de Avenue Messalina.”
Upon the metallic sheen of the evening sky she sketched the itinerary lightly with her fan.
And smiling down on her uplifted face, he asked himself whimsically how long he would love her. She had not the brains poor child, of course, to keep a man for ever. Heigho. Life indeed was often hard....
“Honey, here dey come!”
A growing murmur of distant voices, jointly singing, filled liturgically the air, together as the warning salute, fired at sundown, from the fort heights, above the town, reverberated sadly.
“Oh, la, la,” she laughed, following the wheeling flight of some birds that rose startled from the palms.
“The Angelus....”
“Hark, honey: what is dat dey singin’?”
A thousand ages in Thy sight