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THE INHERITORS
CHAPTER ONE
"IDEAS," she said. "Oh, as for ideas"
"Well?" I hazarded, "as for ideas?"
We went through the old gateway and I cast a glance over my shoulder. The noon sun was shining over the masonry, over the little saints' effigies, over the little fretted canopies, the grime and the white streaks of bird-dropping.
"There," I said, pointing toward it, "doesn't that suggest something to you?"
She made a motion with her head—half negative, half contemptuous.
"But," I stuttered, "the associations—the ideas—the historical ideas"
She said nothing.
"You Americans," I began, but her smile stopped me. It was as if she were amused at the utterances of an old lady shocked by the habits
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