Explore "A Knight of Spain" by Marjorie Bowen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Through the slats of the green shutters the early winter sun poured and fell in a veil of gold over the brocaded bed in which Don Juan sat leaning against the pillows and wrapped in a violet silk mantle.
By the bedside stood Don Carlos, still trembling from the effects of a tertian fever, and speaking with such a swift, unpausing eagerness, that Juan, hastily roused from sleep and still in a maze at what this early visit of the Infant might mean, could hardly catch the sense of the words.