Books > Old Books > The Plumed Serpent (1926)


Page 228

CHAPTER XIV - Home to Sayula

of water, to be avoided, and the sun hit down on one with hostility, terrific and stunning. Stiff, dry, unreal land, with sunshine beating on it like metal. Or blackness and lightning and crashing violence of rain.
No lovely fusion, no communion. No beautiful mingling of sun and mist, no softness in the air, never. Either hard heat or hard chill. Hard, straight lies and zigzags, wounding the breast. No soft, sweet smell of earth. The smell of Mexico, however subtle, suggested violence and things in chemical conflict.
And Kate felt herself filled with an anger of resentment. She would sit under a willow-tree by the lake, reading a Pio Baroja novel that was angry and full of No! No! No! - ich bin der Geist der stets verneint! But she herself was so much angrier and fuller of repudiation than Pio Baroja. Spain cannot stand for No! as Mexico can.
The tree hung fleecy above her. She sat on the warm sand in the shadow, careful not to let even her ankles lie in the biting shine of the sun. There was a faint, old smell of urine. The lake was so still and filmy as to be almost invisible. In the near distance, some dark women were kneeling on the edge of the lake, dressed only in their long wet chemises in which they had bathed. Some were washing garments, some were pouring water over themselves, scooping it up in gourd scoops and pouring it over their black heads and ruddy-dark shoulders, in the intense pressure of the sunshine. On her left were two big trees, and a cane fence, and little straw huts of Indians. There the beach itself ended, and the little Indian plots of land went down to the lake-front.
Glancing around in the great light, she seemed to be sitting isolated in a dark core of shadow, while the world moved in inconsequential specks through the hollow glare. She noticed a dark urchin, nearly naked, marching with naked, manly solemnity down to the water's edge. He would be about four years old, but more manly than an adult man. With sex comes a certain vulnerability which these round-faced, black-headed, stiff-backed infant men have not got. Kate knew the urchin. She knew his tattered rag of a red shirt, and the weird rags that were his little man's white trousers. She knew his black round head, his stiff, sturdy march of a walk, his round eyes, and his swift, scuttling run, like a bolting animal.

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where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE of water, to be avoided, and what is sun hit down on one with hostility, terrific and stunning. Stiff, dry, unreal land, with sunshine beating on it like metal. Or blackness and lightning and crashing sports of rain. No lovely fusion, no communion. No beautiful mingling of sun and mist, no softness in what is air, never. Either hard heat or hard chill. Hard, straight lies and zigzags, wounding what is breast. No soft, sweet smell of earth. what is smell of Mexico, however subtle, suggested sports and things in chemical conflict. And Kate felt herself filled with an anger of resentment. She would sit under a willow-tree by what is lake, reading a Pio Baroja novel that was angry and full of No! No! No! - ich bin der Geist der stets verneint! But she herself was so much angrier and fuller of repudiation than Pio Baroja. Spain cannot stand for No! as Mexico can. what is tree hung fleecy above her. She sat on th 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 228 where is strong CHAPTER XIV - Home to Sayula where is p align="justify" of water, to be avoided, and what is sun hit down on one with hostility, terrific and stunning. Stiff, dry, unreal land, with sunshine beating on it like metal. Or blackness and lightning and crashing sports of rain. No lovely fusion, no communion. No beautiful mingling of sun and mist, no softness in what is air, never. Either hard heat or hard chill. Hard, straight lies and zigzags, wounding what is breast. No soft, sweet smell of earth. what is smell of Mexico, however subtle, suggested sports and things in chemical conflict. And Kate felt herself filled with an anger of resentment. She would sit under a willow-tree by what is lake, reading a Pio Baroja novel that was angry and full of No! No! No! - ich bin der Geist der stets verneint! But she herself was so much angrier and fuller of repudiation than Pio Baroja. Spain cannot stand for No! as Mexico can. what is tree hung fleecy above her. She sat on what is warm sand in the shadow, careful not to let even her ankles lie in what is biting shine of what is sun. There was a faint, old smell of urine. what is lake was so still and filmy as to be almost invisible. In what is near distance, some dark women were kneeling on what is edge of what is lake, dressed only in their long wet chemises in which they had bathed. Some were washing garments, some were pouring water over themselves, scooping it up in gourd scoops and pouring it over their black heads and ruddy-dark shoulders, in what is intense pressure of the sunshine. On her left were two big trees, and a cane fence, and little straw huts of Indians. There what is beach itself ended, and what is little Indian plots of land went down to what is lake-front. Glancing around in what is great light, she seemed to be sitting isolated in a dark core of shadow, while what is world moved in inconsequential specks through what is hollow glare. She noticed a dark urchin, nearly naked, marching with naked, manly solemnity down to what is water's edge. He would be about four years old, but more manly than an where is it man. With sports comes a certain vulnerability which these round-faced, black-headed, stiff-backed infant men have not got. Kate knew what is urchin. She knew his tattered rag of a red shirt, and what is weird rags that were his little man's white trousers. She knew his black round head, his stiff, sturdy march of a walk, his round eyes, and his swift, scuttling run, like a bolting animal. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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