My friends: the silhouette and _la lune_, not counting _Ca
Pue_, whom I regarded almost as a part of me.
Then I lay down, and heard (but could not see the silhouette eat
something or somebody) ... and saw, but could not hear, the incense of
_Ca Pue_ mount gingerly upon the taking air of twilight.
The next day.--Promise to M. Savy. Whang. "My pencil?"--"You don't need
any pencil, you're going away."--"When?"--"Directly."--"How
directly?"--"In an hour or two: your friend has already gone before. Get
ready."
Klang and steps.
Everyone very sore about me. I should worry, however.
One hour, I guess.
Steps. Sudden throwing of door open. Pause.
"Come out, American."
As I came out, toting bed and bed-roll, I remarked: "I'm sorry to leave
you," which made T-c furiously to masticate his insignificant moustache.
Escorted to _bureau_, where I am turned over to a very fat _gendarme_.
"This is the American." The v-f-g eyed me, and I read my sins in his
porklike orbs. "Hurry, we have to walk," he ventured sullenly and
commandingly.
Himself stooped puffingly to pick up the segregated sack. And I placed my
bed, bed-roll, blankets and ample _pelisse_ under one arm, my 150-odd
pound duffle-bag under the other; then I paused.
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