Explore "Perch of the Devil" by Gertrude Atherton on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
They went out at half-past five and joined the dense sauntering throng under the arcade of the Via Venti Settembre. All Genoa turns out at this hour with apparently no object but to amble and stare. The two girls, particularly Ora, who appeared to be the only blonde in the city, were almost mobbed. Every other man spoke to them, or rolled his eyes and twirled his moustache. But they preserved a lofty and blank demeanour, and were practically unmolested. The Genoese works almost as hard as the American during a few hours of the day and haunts the afternoon throngs only to amuse himself indolently. If one woman ignores him he passes on philosophically to the next.
"Lord, but I'd like to get a move on! " exclaimed Ida. "Why don't they _walk_? Is this what they call exercise? And I wouldn't mind their ogling and speaking if they only wouldn't pinch. I'll give this side a rest, anyhow. " And she dexterously changed places and drew Ora's other arm through her own.