The Hearing Trumpet

Well one fine Monday morning…

When I had hidden the hearing trumpet carefully…

Houses are really bodies.

You may not believe in magic…

Santa Brigida is a suburb on the southern…

I made several futile attempts to tell her…

One or two ladies asked Dr. Gambit questions…

Our talk at that moment was interrupted…

I left and sat down on the nearest bench…

Venus sparkled over the trees…

I must have dozed off after this as the room…

Carmella's letter crackled in my pocket…

'Well,' said Maude, 'there I am dressed in tweed…'

Monday or Tuesday, I forget which; I was sitting…

How my mind runs on, or rather backwards…

I walked back to Lookout very pensively…

Venus already sparkled over the tower…

'During the first years of her life in the convent…'

'Ninety hours had scarcely passed…'

'At that period we received visits…'

This pleasant state of affairs…

'Mystery surrounds the journey of the Abbess…'

Don Rosalendo has entered the twelve-hour…

By hanging a blanket over the window…

I shall never quite remember how Anna…

Arthur or Maude's funeral…

After Carmella's stimulating visit…

By mutual and silent consent we never discussed…

We were about to leave for our bungalows…

At dawn I arose and looked out.

All of a sudden the front doorbell clanged loudly…

We left the group staring at the sky…

Ages seemed to have passed since somebody…

Down in the cavern Anna Wertz was cooking…

We all agreed to this plan…

While we climbed the steps Marlborough…

Below in the cavern I heard the sound…