Its hood was up, and its horse was in an attitude of thought.
They climbed in, and the minute they were in--Mrs. Wilkins, indeed,
could hardly be called in--the horse awoke with a start from its
reverie and immediately began going home rapidly; without Beppo;
without the suit-cases.
Beppo darted after him, making the night ring with his shouts,
and caught the hanging reins just in time. He explained proudly, and
as it seemed to him with perfect clearness, that the horse always did
that, being a fine animal full of corn and blood, and cared for by him,
Beppo, as if he were his own son, and the ladies must be alarmed--he
had noticed they were clutching each other; but clear, and loud, and
profuse of words though he was, they only looked at him blankly.
He went on talking, however, while he piled the suit-cases up
round them, sure that sooner or later they must understand him,
especially as he was careful to talk very loud and illustrate
everything he said with the simplest elucidatory gestures, but they
both continued only to look at him. They both, he noticed
sympathetically, had white faces, fatigued faces, and they both had big
eyes, fatigued eyes. They were beautiful ladies, he thought, and their
eyes, looking at him over the tops of the suit-cases watching his every
movement--there were no trunks, only numbers of suit-cases--were like
the eyes of the Mother of God.
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