And I've read in a book that if you walk up
the hill to visit her and say a prayer, you may have a hundred days'
indulgence."
Much good an "indulgence" would do him now, Stephen thought bitterly.
As the ship steamed closer inshore, the dreamlike beauty of the white
town on the green hillside sharpened into a reality which might have
seemed disappointingly modern and French, had it not been for the
sprinkling of domes, the pointing fingers of minarets with glittering
tiles of bronzy green, and the groups of old Arab houses crowded in
among the crudities of a new, Western civilization. Down by the wharf
for which the boat aimed like a homing bird, were huddled a few of these
houses, ancient dwellings turned into commercial offices where shipping
business was transacted. They looked forlorn, yet beautiful, like
haggard slavewomen who remembered days of greatness in a far-off land.
The _Charles Quex_ slackened speed as she neared the harbour, and every
detail of the town leaped to the eyes, dazzling in the southern
sunshine. The encircling arms of break-waters were flung out to sea in a
vast embrace; the smoke of vessels threaded with dark, wavy lines the
pure crystal of the air; the quays were heaped with merchandise, some of
it in bales, as if it might have been brought by caravans across the
desert. There was a clanking of cranes at work, a creaking of chains, a
flapping of canvas, and many sounds which blend in the harsh poetry of
sea-harbours.
Pages:
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100