![]() The sound struck Blaine with a strange excitement. ![]() ![]() It was a quiet, slapping shuffle, the sound of the cheap, brightly colored plastic sandals worn by peasant women in this part of the world. He had stood for a minute rubbing his eyes and breathing deeply of the delicious air when there was a sound beyond that wall. At the bottom of the garden a seven-foot concrete wall separated his villa from the next. Other than the pausing, meditative song of the nightingale, the world was silent.īlaine went down the flagstone walk past the fig and orange trees, stretching and yawning in the deep blue, faintly purplish light that filled the garden like cool water. A vague pinkish glow dimmed the stars above the eastern mountains. The air was just a little damp, perfectly still. He put on clothes and went outside, the kitchen screen door slapping quietly behind him. The deep blue twilight was cool as he slipped out of bed, the floor tiles chilly on his feet. ![]() Blaine woke gradually in the early dawn, the nightingale still singing. ![]()
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