And his quick and exuberant imagination described the delights of life for the two,--a life of love and mystery in some one of the little villas, with a garden peeping out over the sea on the slopes of Posilipo.
The dancers had passed down to the lower terrace where the crowd was greater.

New customers were entering, almost all in pairs, as the day was fading.

The waiter had ushered some highly-painted women with enormous hats, followed by some young men, into the locked dining-room.
Through the half-open door came the noise of pursuit, collision and rebound with brutal roars of laughter.
Freya turned her back, as if the memory of her passage through that den offended her.
The old waiter now devoted himself to them, beginning to serve dinner.
To the bottle of Vesuvian wine had succeeded another kind, gradually losing its contents.
The two ate little but felt a nervous thirst which made them frequently reach out their hands toward the glass.

The wine was depressing to Freya.

The sweetness of the twilight seemed to make it ferment, giving it the acrid perfume of sad memories.
The sailor felt arising within him the aggressive fever of temperate men when becoming intoxicated.