“O, Heaven! Wonderful! May God bless thy mother! God keep misery from all who belong to thee!”
Thus the men exclaimed as they pressed each other for a better view, and the women stifled the you-yous in their throats, pressing their hands to their eyes.
With a backward motion, she drew off her veil; a quick movement unfastened the first row of chains from her breast. She turned her head, spread her arms in a semi-circle, bent her round bust upon her body, and, as though inspired by the beating of the drums, she tapped the earth with her naked feet. She came forward with a simple movement, with no seductive oscillation of the body, yet perfectly intoxicating! Her eyes shot sparks which fell to her very ankles where circlets of gold were flashing. It would not have surprised me, had some one of the young brigands who watched her, snatched her up in his iron grasp, swung her into his saddle and galloped away. But they seemed content simply to foreswear and ruin themselves for her. They tossed under her feet every bit of silver the holy pilgrim had left them; the sand shone with coins—five franc pieces, the boudjous of Tunis, and old Spanish douros. Now and then, she would pause and start anew, smiling more radiantly each time she threw out her arms. I shut my eyes for a moment; I felt she was before me. I saw her kneeling, her breast swelling beneath the golden chains, raising her blue eyelids, showing her white teeth set in coral. I leaned toward her; I felt her warm breath fan my cheek. I laid three gold pieces on her brow and one on either cheek.
“Khamissa!” I murmured. “Lovely one! Leave me not!”
She smiled her alluring smile. The flutes burst forth in a passionate appeal. I held out my arms, but she was gone!
ETCHINGS: COMFORT
(Edward Marshall: For Short Stories.)
She was not a pretty sight ... an old woman tottering under sixty years of poverty ... and now was the worst poverty of all. Her hand, which gathered a grimy plaid shawl at her throat, trembled ceaselessly from privation, and the vile liquor privation had brought. She was hungry; it seemed to her that she had never eaten. She was cold; it seemed to her that she had never known warmth.
She crept into a little hallway on the water front. The breeze from the river was not a strong one; but to her it was a hurricane. The drizzling rain hurt her. The minor tones of a bell from a ship at the near-by docks told that it was midnight. With inarticulate moans she crouched down in a corner, closing the door to keep out the wind and rain.