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Joe walked along slowly, an outsider, and yet feeling himself slipping somehow into the warmth and protection of the street. The odour of the burning leaves was heady, a superdistillate of memories. October and moonlight and burning leaves! It meant nuts and wine-sap apples, lingering in the dusk, watching the bull-bats rise.
Sam smiled undisturbed, for the provoking glance which had accompanied the whisper had been for him. Joe had not seen that. "What's next?" demanded Sam. "Wait and see," said Bela. "They say your toasted bull-bats are out o' sight." "I save them for my regular boarders." "Count me in!" cried Sam. "It was only the yarns of the poisonous food that kept me away before.
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