"We have fruit and flowers and cereals all the year round, thanks to the great _azequia_ (aqueduct) which the Incas built and I restored.

And such fruit! Let him taste a _chirimoya ma fille cherie_." From a tree about fifteen feet high Angela plucked a round green fruit, not unlike an apple, but covered with small knobs and scales.

Then she showed me how to remove the skin, which covered a snow-white juicy pulp of exquisite fragrance and a flavor that I hardly exaggerated in calling divine.

It was a fruit fit for the gods, and so I said.
"We owe it all to the great _azequia_," observed the abbe.

"See, it feeds these rills and fills those fountains, waters our fields, and makes the desert bloom like the rose and the dry places rejoice.