Explore "The Strolling Saint" by Rafael Sabatini on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was still early morning when we came into the town of Mondolfo, my peasant escort and I.
The day being Sunday there was little stir in the town at such an hour, and it presented a very different appearance from that which it had worn when last I had seen it. But the difference lay not only in the absence of bustle and the few folk abroad now as compared with that market-day on which, departing, I had ridden through it. I viewed the place to-day with eyes that were able to draw comparisons, and after the wide streets and imposing buildings of Piacenza, I found my little township mean and rustic.