"I see that you know the Roman shore." "It is our business," replied the man, taking off his ragged rush hat, and rubbing his still more ragged blue cotton sleeve over his wet forehead.

"We are people of the sea, bringing wine and lemons to Civita Vecchia and taking charcoal back.

Evil befall this calm weather." "And when it blows from the west-southwest we say, evil befall this time of storm," said Padre Francesco, nodding wisely.

"Be seated in the shade.

I will fetch water." "And also let us drink here, so that we may take the jug away full." "You shall also drink here." The old watchman went into the tower.
"The last time I passed this way, it was in a west-southwest gale," said the man, addressing Ercole, who had sat down in his old place with his dog at his feet.
"It is an evil shore," Ercole answered.