In the meanwhile Kyr Themistocli had dragged his straw chair outside
his door, where, as the house faced west, there was shade for some
hours in the morning, and sat waiting. In his hand, he held a piece of
bread, but he was not eating it. Not because it was dry, there being
no coffee to drink with it; but because for the first time Aleko had
not come when he had said he would.
It was long past the hour for morning newspapers. Other boys had
cried them up and down the street, but now they had ceased.