There was drinking, in which Benham shared, incomprehensible
compliments, much ineffective saying of "BUONA NOTTE," and at last
Amanda and Benham counterfeited sleep. This seemed to remove a
check on the conversation and a heated discussion in tense undertones
went on, it seemed interminably. . . . Probably very few aspects
of Benham and Amanda were ignored. . . . Towards morning the
twanging of a string proclaimed the arrival of a querulous-faced
minstrel with a sort of embryonic one-stringed horse-headed fiddle,
and after a brief parley singing began, a long high-pitched solo.
The fiddle squealed pitifully under the persuasion of a semicircular
bow. Two heads were lifted enquiringly.
The singer had taken up his position at their feet and faced them.
It was a compliment.
"OH!" said Amanda, rolling over.
The soloist obliged with three songs, and then, just as day was
breaking, stopped abruptly and sprawled suddenly on the floor as if
he had been struck asleep. He was vocal even in his sleep. A cock
in the far corner began crowing and was answered by another
outside.
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