{"product_id":"2940012363091","title":"ROMANCE","description":"PART FIRST -- THE QUARRY AND THE BEACH\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eROMANCE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCHAPTER ONE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo yesterday and to to-day I say my polite \"vaya usted con Dios.\" What\u003cbr\u003eare these days to me? But that far-off day of my romance, when from\u003cbr\u003ebetween the blue and white bales in Don Ramon's darkened storeroom, at\u003cbr\u003eKingston, I saw the door open before the figure of an old man with the\u003cbr\u003etired, long, white face, that day I am not likely to forget. I remember\u003cbr\u003ethe chilly smell of the typical West Indian store, the indescribable\u003cbr\u003esmell of damp gloom, of locos, of pimento, of olive oil, of new sugar,\u003cbr\u003eof new rum; the glassy double sheen of Ramon's great spectacles, the\u003cbr\u003epiercing eyes in the mahogany face, while the tap, tap, tap of a cane\u003cbr\u003eon the flags went on behind the inner door; the click of the latch; the\u003cbr\u003estream of light. The door, petulantly thrust inwards, struck against\u003cbr\u003esome barrels. I remember the rattling of the bolts on that door, and the\u003cbr\u003etall figure that appeared there, snuffbox in hand. In that land of white\u003cbr\u003eclothes, that precise, ancient, Castilian in black was something to\u003cbr\u003eremember. The black cane that had made the tap, tap, tap dangled by a\u003cbr\u003esilken cord from the hand whose delicate blue-veined, wrinkled wrist ran\u003cbr\u003eback into a foam of lawn ruffles. The other hand paused in the act of\u003cbr\u003econveying a pinch of snuff to the nostrils of the hooked nose that had,\u003cbr\u003eon the skin stretched tight over the bridge, the polish of old ivory;\u003cbr\u003ethe elbow pressing the black cocked-hat against the side; the legs,\u003cbr\u003eone bent, the other bowing a little back--this was the attitude of\u003cbr\u003eSeraphina's father.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHaving imperiously thrust the door of the inner room open, he remained\u003cbr\u003eimmovable, with no intention of entering, and called in a harsh,\u003cbr\u003eaged voice: \"Señor Ramon! Señor Ramon!\" and then twice:\u003cbr\u003e\"Sera-phina--Seraphina!\" turning his head back.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen for the first time I saw Seraphina, looking over her father's\u003cbr\u003eshoulder. I remember her face on that day; her eyes were gray--the gray\u003cbr\u003eof black, not of blue. For a moment they looked me straight in the face,\u003cbr\u003ereflectively, unconcerned, and then travelled to the spectacles of old\u003cbr\u003eRamon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis glance--remember I was young on that day--had been enough to set\u003cbr\u003eme wondering what they were thinking of me; what they could have seen of\u003cbr\u003eme.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But there he is--your Señor Ramon,\" she said to her father, as if she\u003cbr\u003ewere chiding him for a petulance in calling; \"your sight is not very\u003cbr\u003egood, my poor little father--there he is, your Ramon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe warm reflection of the light behind her, gilding the curve of her\u003cbr\u003eface from ear to chin, lost itself in the shadows of black lace falling\u003cbr\u003efrom dark hair that was not quite black. She spoke as if the words clung\u003cbr\u003eto her lips; as if she had to put them forth delicately for fear of\u003cbr\u003edamaging the frail things. She raised her long hand to a white flower\u003cbr\u003ethat clung above her ear like the pen of a clerk, and disappeared. Ramon\u003cbr\u003ehurried with a stiffness of immense respect towards the ancient grandee.\u003cbr\u003eThe door swung to.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI remained alone. The blue bales and the white, and the great red oil\u003cbr\u003ejars loomed in the dim light filtering through the jalousies out of the\u003cbr\u003eblinding sunlight of Jamaica. A moment after, the door opened once more\u003cbr\u003eand a young man came out to me; tall, slim, with very bright, very large\u003cbr\u003eblack eyes aglow in an absolute pallor of face. That was Carlos Riego.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWell, that is my yesterday of romance, for the many things that have\u003cbr\u003epassed between those times and now have become dim or have gone out\u003cbr\u003eof my mind. And my day before yesterday was the day on which I, at\u003cbr\u003etwenty-two, stood looking at myself in the tall glass, the day on which\u003cbr\u003eI left my home in Kent and went, as chance willed it, out to sea with\u003cbr\u003eCarlos Riego.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat day my cousin Rooksby had become engaged to my sister Veronica, and\u003cbr\u003eI had a fit of jealous misery. I was rawboned, with fair hair, I had a\u003cbr\u003egood skin, tanned by the weather, good teeth, and brown eyes. I had not\u003cbr\u003ehad a very happy life, and I had lived shut in on myself, thinking\u003cbr\u003eof the wide world beyond my reach, that seemed to hold out infinite\u003cbr\u003epossibilities of romance, of adventure, of love, perhaps, and stores of\u003cbr\u003egold. In the family my mother counted; my father did not. She was the\u003cbr\u003edaughter of a Scottish earl who had ruined himself again and again. He\u003cbr\u003ehad been an inventor, a projector, and my mother had been a poor beauty,\u003cbr\u003ebrought up on the farm we still lived on--the last rag of land that had\u003cbr\u003eremained to her father. Then she had married a good man in his way; a\u003cbr\u003egood enough catch; moderately well off, very amiable, easily influenced,\u003cbr\u003ea dilettante, and a bit of a dreamer, too.","brand":"SAP","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":47158149349616,"sku":"2940012363091","price":0.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":true}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/0737\/7593\/9824\/files\/2940012363091_p0.jpg?v=1763567779","url":"https:\/\/shop-qa.barnesandnoble.com\/products\/2940012363091","provider":"Barnes \u0026 Noble (DEV)","version":"1.0","type":"link"}