Sometimes A Curtain Hanging Before Them Allowed
Me Only A Sight Of The Small Hands Which Clasped The Bars Of The Grate,
And The Dusky Faces And Dark Eyes Peeping Into The Street And Scanning The
Passers By.
At other times, the whole room was seen, with its furniture,
and its female forms sitting in languid postures, courting the breeze as
it entered from without.
In the evening, as I passed along the narrow
sidewalk of the narrow streets, I have been startled at finding myself
almost in the midst of a merry party gathered about the window of a
brilliantly lighted room, and chattering the soft Spanish of the island in
voices that sounded strangely near to me. I have spoken of their languid
postures: they love to recline on sofas; their houses are filled with
rocking-chairs imported from the United States; they are fond of sitting
in chairs tilted against the wall, as we sometimes do at home. Indeed they
go beyond us in this respect; for in Cuba they have invented a kind of
chair which, by lowering the back and raising the knees, places the sitter
precisely in the posture he would take if he sat in a chair leaning
backward against a wall. It is a luxurious attitude, I must own, and I do
not wonder that it is a favorite with lazy people, for it relieves one of
all the trouble of keeping the body upright.
It is the women who form the large majority of the worshipers in the
churches.
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