She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. Speedily recovering himself, however, he rejoined, with forced calmness, "You are mistaken, Sir. .
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