"They've got it in for us, Lolita--Rudolf and me." She laughed outright
now. Pearl's laughter was ever a disagreeable surprise; low, harsh,
unpleasantly vibrant, and in strange dissonance to her soft, contralto
voice. "Lay you any odds you say, Lolita, that it's poor old Bob that's
got to be the goat."
The parrot swung back to a normal position with surprising rapidity.
"Bob, Bob," she croaked. "Mi jasmin, Pearl, mi corazon," and she gazed
at her mistress with wrinkled, cynical eyes.
"Yes, Bob's got to do the telling." Pearl confided more to Lolita than
she ever did in her fellow beings. "Oh, Rudolf, this is where you get
knifed! They've been laying for you right from the first. When Bob's got
to do a thing, he never wastes any time; he'll be along sure this
morning. I guess we'll just wait right here and catch him."
Lolita hopped clumsily on to Pearl's shoulder and tweaked her ear. "Hell
and damnation!" she muttered, and then sang:
"Love me to-day,
Love me an hour."
Pearl shrugged impatiently. "Shut up!" she cried, and resting her chin
in her cupped hands gazed over the sparkling, shimmering plain, where
all unshadowed day-beams seemed to gather as pure light and then, as if
fused in some magic alembic, became color. There, the ineffable command:
"Let there be light!" included all. It is only in the silence and light
of the desert that men may fully realize that the universe is one, that
light is music and music is color and color is fragrance,
undifferentiated in the eternal harmony of beauty.
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