Explore "The Black Pin" by Eric Walrond on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Down through the spine of the lane was a watercourse. Fish -- blue, gold, crimson -- whirled languidly in it. And from the watercourse sounds came. Busy buttering the soft part that was not exposed to the sun, of the banana leaf into which she was to spread the cornmeal and spice and molasses and then tightly fold to make the _conkee_, April was quick to hear it. The kids squabbling again.
She put down the platter and made for the watercourse. Zenona, the nanny goat, scampered away at her rustling approach.