The Pocket George Borrow by George Henry Borrow
page 46 of 145 (31%)
page 46 of 145 (31%)
|
was insufficient to cover an immense bush of coal-black hair, which,
thick and curly, projected on either side. Over the left shoulder was flung a kind of satchel, and in the right hand was held a long staff or pole. There was something peculiarly strange about the figure; but what struck me the most was the tranquillity with which it moved along, taking no heed of me, though of course aware of my proximity, but looking straight forward along the road, save when it occasionally raised a huge face and large eyes towards the moon, which was now shining forth in the eastern quarter. . . . 'A cold night,' said I at last. 'Is this the way to Talavera?' 'It is the way to Talavera, and the night is cold.' 'I am going to Talavera,' said I, 'as I suppose you are yourself.' 'I am going thither, so are you, bueno.' The tones of the voice which delivered these words were in their way quite as strange and singular as the figure to which the voice belonged. They were not exactly the tones of a Spanish voice, and yet there was something in them that could hardly be foreign; the pronunciation also was correct, and the language, though singular, faultless. But I was most struck with the manner in which the last word, bueno, was spoken. I had heard something like it before, but where or when I could by no means remember. A pause now ensued, the figure stalking on as before with the most perfect indifference, and seemingly with no disposition either to seek or avoid conversation. |
|