Before retracing his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can, consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive place of burial,—and which, before it was intersected by canals and railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Wait, though. Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. It might be upset.
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