Anthony Adverse by Hervey Allen

Hot countries, Anthony discovered, had a curious effect upon him. He had ebullitions of emotion; they passed, and left him much the same as before, dreamfully contented, merely existing comfortably. The crests did not disturb the form which was, after all, Cibo in his chair on the veranda with rum and lime juice. Then there was tobacco. He had begun to soak up a good deal of that into his system, the dark Cuban leaf. It made contentment easy and keenness uncomfortable. It prevented in a northerner the constant foolish necessity of doing something.

Despite the tremendous impression which Brother Francois's interference with the whipping had made upon him only a week ago-- what was it now?--only an event of the extremely remote past, he thought as he sat smoking on the veranda with Cibo, while a half- moon filtered into the patio and Juan fooled below on the strings of his new guitar. That lad DID have a voice undoubtedly. A half-mocking song, no doubt addressed to Cheecha, mixed its soft chords with the moonlight and caused the parrot to shift sleepily on its perch. Tonight it was deliciously fragrant and cool. Pretty late though. Still you could not expect to sleep all the afternoon and all the night as well. The end of his cigar glowed revealing Anthony's face a little whiter than when he arrived, wrapt in a dreamful satisfaction. Cibo smiled to himself.