He would have
liked to go into one of the booths where the girls danced, but he had no
money, and he cursed at his stupidity in not asking the Marx woman for
some. He no longer felt ashamed of himself, for he argued that he was
the victim of circumstances. Still he wished Xantippe had not looked out
of the window, though of course he could easily explain things to her.
And Xantippe was really so angry the night before, explanations were
better postponed for a time. "After all," he thought, "it really does
not much matter. Once we get over our present difficulties we shall
forget all we have gone through." This comfortable reflection had been
doing duty pretty often the last day or two, and though Gregorio did not
believe it a bit, he always felt it was a satisfactory conclusion, and
one to be encouraged.
Meanwhile he would not meet Xantippe. That was a point upon which he had
definitely made up his mind. As he strolled through the bazaars, putting
into order his vagabond thoughts, in a tall figure a few yards in front
of him he recognised Amos. Nervous, he halted, for he had no desire to
be interviewed by the Jew, and yet no way of escape seemed possible.
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