clogged with huddled bodies; old and young, ragged and stark naked, human and canine, mingling together.
The provoking coolness of the stars was too far off. The hot moon hung low, and, instead of its usual cheering gold, had assumed a sickly saffron. The sleepers stirred uneasily and the tongues of the dogs lolled over their jaws, their little hearts beating sterterously like small machines that try the steep hills.
Three squalid squares they passed, then veered to the water's edge. At a wharf the gasoline launch lay moored, with a sailor in its cockpit. They entered and waited.
The heat of her room in the little café was unendurable, and Linda removed the few garments she wore, donning a flowing one of sheer white, then gathered up her quilt to descend to the cooler and now deserted courtyard.
She heard a muffled cry, stopped, her heart beating, then went to the narrow window that commanded the northern alley leading to the water, and looked down into its darkness.
Footsteps shuffled around the corner. The fugitive had gone. She strained her eyes and saw a body lying prone on the hard-baked earth. With a little cry she descended the stairs, crossed the yard and threshold of the gate, arms, ankles, and shoulders, slipping from their white sheath, and betraying the grace of her lithe body.
She ran up the street, turned into the alley. A mongrel sniffed at the face which lay on the edge of one of those half-dried green puddles. She looked into the still features. There was a dark stain upon them. Tenderly she gathered
