Lost trumpet
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CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
‘Sweet to dance to violins.’
Subchapter i
WE came out from Adrian’s into a Cairene
darkness made of velvet, hung with little red
jewels that were the street-lights, and very quiet
except for the whoom and clatter of the distant street¬
cars that held towards Esbekieh. I looked for a taxi,
but none was to be found, and we walked the rutty
streets towards the garage by Bab el Hadid where
Pelagueya had left her automobile. But less than a
score of yards from Adrian’s door Pelagueya took
my arm and said : “Listen !”
And then, remote to our left through the night, we
heard the distance-softened clamour of dance-music.
A violin dominated the sound and sank and rose
again. A ball was in progress in some place.
Pelagueya’s face was a dim red-ochred silhouette.
“Ed love to dance. Where is it, Anton ?”
In a moment I was sure. “No public place, I am
afraid. It is the Pension Avallaire. The ball of the
season for residents. Why !”
I had suddenly recollected Aslaug Simonssen.
Pelagueya threw away her cigarette.
143
‘Sweet to dance to violins.’
Subchapter i
WE came out from Adrian’s into a Cairene
darkness made of velvet, hung with little red
jewels that were the street-lights, and very quiet
except for the whoom and clatter of the distant street¬
cars that held towards Esbekieh. I looked for a taxi,
but none was to be found, and we walked the rutty
streets towards the garage by Bab el Hadid where
Pelagueya had left her automobile. But less than a
score of yards from Adrian’s door Pelagueya took
my arm and said : “Listen !”
And then, remote to our left through the night, we
heard the distance-softened clamour of dance-music.
A violin dominated the sound and sank and rose
again. A ball was in progress in some place.
Pelagueya’s face was a dim red-ochred silhouette.
“Ed love to dance. Where is it, Anton ?”
In a moment I was sure. “No public place, I am
afraid. It is the Pension Avallaire. The ball of the
season for residents. Why !”
I had suddenly recollected Aslaug Simonssen.
Pelagueya threw away her cigarette.
143
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Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. 
| The books of Lewis Grassic Gibbon > Lost trumpet > (142) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/205191323 |
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| Description | J. Leslie Mitchell. |
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| Shelfmark | Vts.143.j.8 |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Sixteen books written by Lewis Grassic Gibbon (1901-1935), regarded as the most important Scottish prose writer of the early 20th century. All were published in the last seven years of his life, mostly under his real name, James Leslie Mitchell. They include two works of science fiction, non-fiction works on exploration, short stories set in Egypt, a novel about Spartacus, and the classic 'Scots Quair' trilogy which includes 'Sunset Song'. Mitchell's first book 'Hanno, or the future of exploration' (1928) is rare and has never been republished. |
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| Additional NLS resources: |
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