He scowled savagely at the inmates of the cafe, who only smiled
quietly, for they were used to poor Greeks who had drunk away their last
coin, and pushed past them into the street.
There it was hotter than ever, and he met scarcely any one. Every
one who could be was at home, or in the cool cafes; only Gregorio was
abroad. He determined to make for the quay. He knew that many ships put
into the Alexandrian waters, and there was often employment found
for those not too proud to work at lading and unloading. Quickly, and
burning as the kempsin, he hurried through the Rue des Soeurs, not
daring to look up at the house wherein he dwelt. The muffled sounds
of voices and guitars from the far-away interiors seemed to mock his
footsteps as he passed the wine-shops; and all the other houses were
silent and asleep. At last he arrived on the quay, and the black lines
of the P. and O. stood out firmly before him against the pitiless blue
of sea and sky. He wandered over the hot stone causeway, but found no
one. The revenue officers were away, and not a labourer, not a sailor,
was visible.
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