They followed one another in single
file, walking slowly and yawning as they walked, like men who have
been up all night. There was something so reassuringly prosperous
and respectable in their bearing that after a moment's hesitation
Nunez stood forward as conspicuously as possible upon his rock, and
gave vent to a mighty shout that echoed round the valley.
The three men stopped, and moved their heads as though they
were looking about them. They turned their faces this way and
that, and Nunez gesticulated with freedom. But they did not appear
to see him for all his gestures, and after a time, directing
themselves towards the mountains far away to the right, they
shouted as if in answer. Nunez bawled again, and then once more,
and as he gestured ineffectually the word "blind" came up to the
top of his thoughts. "The fools must be blind," he said.
When at last, after much shouting and wrath, Nunez crossed the
stream by a little bridge, came through a gate in the wall, and
approached them, he was sure that they were blind. He was sure
that this was the Country of the Blind of which the legends told.
Conviction had sprung upon him, and a sense of great and rather
enviable adventure. The three stood side by side, not looking at
him, but with their ears directed towards him, judging him by his
unfamiliar steps.
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