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Luna's, who loved the landed gentry even when landless, who adored a Southerner under any circumstances, who thought her kinsman a fine, manly, melancholy, disinterested type, and who was sure that her views of public matters, the questions of the age, the vulgar character of modern life, would meet with a perfect response in his mind.
The appearance of Sagrario had brought about a change in Luna's life; he became more communicative, and he lost a great deal of the reserve he had imposed upon himself when he took refuge in the stony lap of the church. He no longer forced himself to keep silence and to hide his thoughts; the presence of a woman seemed to enliven him and wake once more his propagandist fervour.
It was on one of these afternoons that the Tagalog story of "The Monkey and the Tortoise" was hastily sketched as a joke to fill the remaining pages of Mrs. Luna's autograph album, in which she had been insisting Rizal must write before all its space was used up.
For a moment, Horace Carey stood like a statue, then he sprang into the river and swam against the fire of the hidden foe to where Thaine Aydelot had disappeared. Ten minutes later, while Luna's forces were trying vainly to resist the daring Americans, Thaine Aydelot lay on a raft which Carey, with a Red Cross aid, was pulling toward the south bank.
By Phoebus' golden torch, By Luna's pallid light, Around her temple's porch Crept the unhappy sharp-eared wight; And warbled many a lay, Her beauty's praise to sing, And fiercely scraped away On his discordant fiddle-string. With tears, too, swelled his eyes, As large as nuts, or larger; He gasped forth heavy sighs, Like music from Silenus' charger.
He selected from the parchments one that was cleaner and fresher than the others, and bent over it his white, wavy beard and his tearful eyes. "This is the wedding contract of Benamor with my poor daughter: Luna's parents. You can't understand it, for it's in Hebrew characters, but the language is Castilian, pure Castilian, as it was spoken by our ancestors."
Who'll pay for the supper to-night at Luna's, and our railroad fare going home?" "I'll pay." "But I I can't afford to lose money this way." "Shouldn't have played, then. I took the same chances as you. Condy, I want my money." "You you why you've regularly flimflammed me." "Will you give me my money?" "Oh, take your money then!" Blix shut the money in her purse, and rose, dusting her dress.
Luna's Mexican restaurant has no address. It is on no particular street, at no particular corner; even its habitues, its most enthusiastic devotees, are unable to locate it upon demand. It is "over there in the quarter," "not far from the cathedral there." One could find it if one started out with that intent; but to direct another there no, that is out of the question.
They could not bear Luna's absence, they wanted to hear him, to consult him, and even the shoemaker when his work was not urgent would leave his bench and, smelling of paste, with his apron tucked into his belt and his head rolled up in striped handkerchiefs, would come and sit by Sagrario's machine. The young woman fixed her sad eyes with admiration on her uncle.
It was only afterwards that she asked herself why he had not taken it into his head till the last, so quickly. In all Mrs. Luna's visions of herself, her discretion was the leading feature. "Are you going to let ten years elapse again before you come?" she asked, as Basil Ransom bade her good-night.
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