Soon the little bells of the hotels will call them away and the hour of midday will find me here alone.

But what in heaven's name will deliver me from the noise of the dynamos?
But look! beyond there, at the bottom of the sanctuaries, in the part which should be the holy of holies, that great fresco, now half effaced, but still clearly visible on the wall--how unexpected and arresting it is! An image of Christ! Christ crowned with the Byzantine aureole.

It has been painted on a coarse plaster, which seems to have been added by an unskilful hand, and is wearing off and exposing the hieroglyphs beneath.
.

.

.