Books > Old Books > The Plumed Serpent (1926)


Page 56

CHAPTER III - Fortieth Birthday

as Don Ramon said, began with Viva! but ended always with Muera! Death to this, death to the other; it was all death! death! death! as insistent as the Aztec sacrifices. Something for ever gruesome and macabre.
Why had she come to this high plateau of death? As a woman, she suffered even more than men suffer: and in the end, practically all men go under. Once, Mexico had had an elaborate ritual of death. Now it has death, ragged, squalid, vulgar, without even the passion of its own mystery.
She sat on a parapet of the old roof. The street beyond was like a black abyss, but around her was the rough glare of uneven flat roofs, with loose telephone wires trailing across, and the sudden, deep, dark wells of the patios, showing flowers blooming in shade.
Just behind was a huge old church, its barrel roof humping up like some crouching animal, and its domes, like bubbles inflated, glittering with yellow tiles, and blue and white tiles, against the intense blue heaven. Quiet native women in long skirts were moving on the roofs, hanging out washing or spreading it on the stones. Chickens perched here and there. An occasional bird soared huge overhead, trailing a shadow. And not far away stood the brownish tower-stumps of the Cathedral, the profound old bell trembling huge and deep, so soft as to be almost inaudible, upon the air.
It ought to have been all gay, allegro, allegretto, in that sparkle of bright air and old roof surfaces. But no! There was the dark undertone, the black, serpent-like fatality all the time.
It was no good Kate's wondering why she had come. Over in England, in Ireland, in Europe, she had heard the con.rummatum est of her own spirit. It was finished, in a kind of death agony. But still this heavy continent of dark-souled death was more than she could bear.
She was forty: the first half of her life was over. The bright page with its flowers and its love and its stations of the Cross ended with a grave. Now she must turn over, and the page was black, black and empty.
The first half of her life had been written on the bright, smooth vellum of hope, with initial letters all gorgeous upon a field of gold. But the glamour had gone from station to station of the Cross, and the last illumination was the tomb

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE as Don Ramon said, began with Viva! but ended always with Muera! what time is it to this, what time is it to what is other; it was all what time is it ! what time is it ! what time is it ! as insistent as what is Aztec travel s. Something for ever gruesome and macabre. Why had she come to this high plateau of what time is it ? As a woman, she suffered even more than men suffer: and in what is end, practically all men go under. Once, Mexico had had an elaborate ritual of what time is it . Now it has what time is it , ragged, squalid, vulgar, without even what is passion of its own mystery. She sat on a parapet of what is old roof. what is street beyond was like a black abyss, but around her was what is rough glare of uneven flat roofs, with loose telephone wires trailing across, and what is sudden, deep, dark wells of what is patios, showing flowers blooming in shade. Just behind was a huge old church, its barrel roof humping up like some crouching animal, and its domes, like bubbles inflated, glittering w where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Plumed Serpent (1926) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 56 where is strong CHAPTER III - Fortieth Birthday where is p align="justify" as Don Ramon said, began with Viva! but ended always with Muera! what time is it to this, what time is it to what is other; it was all what time is it ! what time is it ! what time is it ! as insistent as what is Aztec travel s. Something for ever gruesome and macabre. Why had she come to this high plateau of what time is it ? As a woman, she suffered even more than men suffer: and in what is end, practically all men go under. Once, Mexico had had an elaborate ritual of what time is it . Now it has what time is it , ragged, squalid, vulgar, without even what is passion of its own mystery. She sat on a parapet of what is old roof. what is street beyond was like a black abyss, but around her was what is rough glare of uneven flat roofs, with loose telephone wires trailing across, and what is sudden, deep, dark wells of what is patios, showing flowers blooming in shade. Just behind was a huge old church, its barrel roof humping up like some crouching animal, and its domes, like bubbles inflated, glittering with yellow tiles, and blue and white tiles, against what is intense blue heaven. Quiet native women in long skirts were moving on what is roofs, hanging out washing or spreading it on what is stones. Chickens perched here and there. An occasional bird soared huge overhead, trailing a shadow. And not far away stood what is brownish tower-stumps of what is Cathedral, what is profound old bell trembling huge and deep, so soft as to be almost inaudible, upon what is air. It ought to have been all gay, allegro, allegretto, in that sparkle of bright air and old roof surfaces. But no! There was what is dark undertone, what is black, serpent-like fatality all what is time. It was no good Kate's wondering why she had come. Over in England, in Ireland, in Europe, she had heard what is con.rummatum est of her own spirit. It was finished, in a kind of what time is it agony. But still this heavy continent of dark-souled what time is it was more than she could bear. She was forty: what is first half of her life was over. what is bright page with its flowers and its what time is it and its stations of what is Cross ended with a grave. Now she must turn over, and what is page was black, black and empty. what is first half of her life had been written on what is bright, smooth vellum of hope, with initial letters all gorgeous upon a field of gold. But what is glamour had gone from station to station of what is Cross, and what is last illumination was what is tomb where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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