I don’t know how long I walked with him, hearing nothing, and as if I was being influenced by some frightful galvanism, rather than under my own power. When I came to my senses, I was exhausted by a flow of cold perspiration. However the poet Croesus didn’t notice anything, not because it was so dark, but because he didn’t lift his eyes from the end of his cigar.
“And now Mr. P.” I stammered, “goodbye! I must be going.”
“I hope we meet again soon!” he said, and turned to shake hands, but I had gone.
Everything around me seemed to be laughing sarcastically and repeating to me, “Goodbye!”
Near to the disembarkation point of the steamship, with the light from the lamp above shining on her face, Másinga was waiting to say good-bye to me. Her happy face and the childish eagerness with which
