XXIV
ROSA
"Look!" Jacket clutched at O'Reilly and pointed a shaking finger.
"More beggars! Cristo! And those little children!" The boy tried
to laugh, but his voice cracked nervously. "Are they children, or
gourds with legs under them?"
O'Reilly looked, then turned his eyes away. He and Jacket had
reached the heart of Matanzas and were facing the public square,
the Plaza de la Libertad it was called. O'Reilly knew the place
well; every building that flanked it was familiar to him, from the
vast, rambling Governor's Palace to the ornate Casino Espanol and
the Grand Hotel, and time was when he had been a welcome visitor
at all of them. But things were different now. Gone were the
customary crowds of well-dressed, well-fed citizens; gone the rows
of carriages which at this hour of the day were wont to circle the
Plaza laden with the aristocracy of the city; gone was that air of
cheerfulness and substance which had lent distinction to the
place. Matanzas appeared poor and squalid, depressingly wretched;
its streets were foul and the Plaza de la Libertad--grim mockery
of a name--was crowded with a throng such as it had never held in
O'Reilly's time, a throng of people who were, without exception,
gaunt, listless, ragged. There was no afternoon parade of finery,
no laughter, no noise; the benches were full, but their occupants
were silent, too sick or too weak to move.
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