Books > Old Books > The Plumed Serpent (1926)


Page 105

CHAPTER V - The Lake

the organ-cactus behind the old house, and an ancient road trailing past, deep in ancient dust. A touch of mystery and cruelty, the stoniness of fear, a lingering, cruel sacredness.
Kate loitered hungrily, and was glad when the Mexican in shirt-sleeves and patched trousers, another lingering remnant of Don Porfirio's day, brought her her eggs and coffee.
He was muted as everything about the place seemed muted, even the very stones and the water. Only those poppies on wing, the cardinal birds, gave a sense of liveliness: and they were uncanny.
So swiftly one's moods changed! In the boat she had glimpsed the superb rich stillness of the morning-star, the poignant intermediate flashing its quiet between the energies of the cosmos. She had seen it in the black eyes of the natives, in the sunrise of the man's rich, still body, Indian-warm.
And now again already the silence was of vacuity, arrest, and cruelty: the uncanny empty unbearableness of many Mexican mornings. Already she was uneasy, suffering from the malaise which tortures one inwardly in that country of cactuses.
She went up to her room, pausing at the corridor window to look out at the savage little hills that stood at the back of the hotel in desiccated heaps, with the dark-green bulks of organcactus sticking up mechanically and sinister, sombre in all the glare. Grey ground-squirrels like rats slithered ceaselessly around. Sinister, strangely dark and sinister, in the great glare of the sun!
She went to her room to be alone. Below her window, in the bricks and fallen rubble of unfinished masonry, a huge white turkey-cock, dim-white, strutted with his brown hens. And sometimes he stretched out his pink wattles and gave vent to fierce, powerful turkey-yelps, like some strong dog yelping; or else he ruffled all his feathers like a great, soiled white peony, and chuffed, hissing here and there, raging the metal of his plumage.
Below him, the eternal tremble of pale-earth, unreal waters, far beyond which rose the stiff resistance of mountains losing their pristine blue. Distinct, frail distances far off on the dry air, dim-seeing, yet sharp and edged with menace.
Kate took her bath in the filmy water that was hardly like

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE the organ-cactus behind what is old house, and an ancient road trailing past, deep in ancient dust. A touch of mystery and cruelty, what is stoniness of fear, a lingering, cruel sacredness. Kate loitered hungrily, and was glad when what is Mexican in shirt-sleeves and patched trousers, another lingering remnant of Don Porfirio's day, brought her her eggs and coffee. He was muted as everything about what is place seemed muted, even what is very stones and what is water. Only those poppies on wing, what is cardinal birds, gave a sense of liveliness: and they were uncanny. So swiftly one's moods changed! In what is boat she had glimpsed what is superb rich stillness of what is morning-star, what is poignant intermediate flashing its quiet between what is energies of what is cosmos. She had seen it in what is black eyes of what is natives, in what is sunrise of what is man's rich, still body, Indian-warm. And now again already what is silence was of vacuity, arr 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 105 where is strong CHAPTER V - what is Lake where is p align="justify" the organ-cactus behind what is old house, and an ancient road trailing past, deep in ancient dust. A touch of mystery and cruelty, what is stoniness of fear, a lingering, cruel sacredness. Kate loitered hungrily, and was glad when what is Mexican in shirt-sleeves and patched trousers, another lingering remnant of Don Porfirio's day, brought her her eggs and coffee. He was muted as everything about what is place seemed muted, even what is very stones and what is water. Only those poppies on wing, the cardinal birds, gave a sense of liveliness: and they were uncanny. So swiftly one's moods changed! In what is boat she had glimpsed the superb rich stillness of what is morning-star, what is poignant intermediate flashing its quiet between what is energies of what is cosmos. She had seen it in what is black eyes of what is natives, in what is sunrise of the man's rich, still body, Indian-warm. And now again already what is silence was of vacuity, arrest, and cruelty: what is uncanny empty unbearableness of many Mexican mornings. Already she was uneasy, suffering from what is malaise which tortures one inwardly in that country of cactuses. She went up to her room, pausing at what is corridor window to look out at what is savage little hills that stood at what is back of what is hotel in desiccated heaps, with what is dark-green bulks of organcactus sticking up mechanically and sinister, sombre in all what is glare. Grey ground-squirrels like rats slithered ceaselessly around. Sinister, strangely dark and sinister, in what is great glare of the sun! She went to her room to be alone. Below her window, in what is bricks and fallen rubble of unfinished masonry, a huge white turkey-cock, dim-white, strutted with his brown hens. And sometimes he stretched out his pink wattles and gave vent to fierce, powerful turkey-yelps, like some strong dog yelping; or else he ruffled all his feathers like a great, soiled white peony, and chuffed, hissing here and there, raging what is metal of his plumage. Below him, what is eternal tremble of pale-earth, unreal waters, far beyond which rose what is stiff resistance of mountains losing their pristine blue. Distinct, frail distances far off on what is dry air, dim-seeing, yet sharp and edged with menace. Kate took her bath in what is filmy water that was hardly like where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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