For me the incident, delightful as it was, was
closed. All I remembered, as I squeezed the contents of another tube on
to my palette, was the smile on the face of the priest.
The weather now began to take part in the general agitation. The lazy
haze, roused by the joyous sun, had gathered its skirts together and had
slipped over the hills. The sun in its turn had been effaced by a big
cloud with scalloped edges which had overspread the distant line of the
river, blotting out the flashes of silver laughter, and so frightening
the little waves that they scurried off to the banks, some even trying
to climb up the stone coping out of the way of the rising wind. A cool
gust of air, out on a lark, now swept down the path, and, with lance in
rest, toppled over my white umbrella. Big drops of rain fell about me,
spitting the dust like spent balls. Growls of thunder were heard
overhead. One of those rollicking, two-faced thunder-squalls, with the
sun on one side and the blackness of the night on the other, was
approaching.
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