How the
women spend their lives one may vainly conjecture. Only on Sunday
did I see a few of them about the street; they walked to and from
Mass, with eyes on the ground, and all the better-dressed of them
wore black.
When the weather fell calm again, and there was pleasure in walking,
I chanced upon a trace of the old civilization which interested me
more than objects ranged in a museum. Rambling eastward along the
outer shore, in the wilderness which begins as soon as the town has
disappeared, I came to a spot as uninviting as could be imagined,
great mounds of dry rubbish, evidently deposited here by the
dust-carts of Taranto; luckily, I continued my walk beyond this
obstacle, and after a while became aware that I had entered upon a
road--a short piece of well-marked road, which began and ended in
the mere waste. A moment's examination, and I saw that it was no
modern by-way. The track was clean-cut in living rock, its smooth,
hard surface lined with two parallel ruts nearly a foot deep; it
extended for some twenty yards without a break, and further on I
discovered less perfect bits.
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