With slow and heavy step Sandu took the road to the market-place. At the corner he stopped. He turned his head and looked back along the street towards Master Dinu’s house.
He had crossed the square and was on the bridge when he met Nitza Burencea.
“What’s up, Sandu, have you left? Where are you going?”
Sandu, like a person awakened out of a trance, with his eyes fastened dreamily upon the distant horizon, answered in a troubled voice:
The Bird of Ill Omen
By I. Al. Bratescu-Voineshti
Conu Costache had one of the pleasantest faces in the town.
Men of the same age as himself said he was nearly seventy years old; but a life free from care, a comfortable fortune, a wife as loving as a sister, two children who were getting on well, and, above all, his own kindly nature, had kept him so healthy, quick of movement and clear of mind, that one would not have given him fifty years.