Filling every cast of the veranda, bending every branch toward a smile, her voice greets the entrance of night. The drapes luff…
…the winding, narrow-terraced streets of Alger la Blanche idle beyond the window, a muted bloom. If not for this curtain’s dancing, that exquisite hum tracing the hillside, he thought, we’d be adrift in the middle of the Mediterranean.
And with another lapse of heavy lids: they are an island, untucked, reclining at sea… until the dawn converges.