Stones

The sale not come off this afternoon at Canturi corner jewellers. At the table with the oval mirror providing additional angles and facets, the two dames had the customer over a barrel. Fingers back-stretched and curling on the black felt created a dance of jewel-light. Ineffective in this instance. 
         Coming out the door lady gives herself a low smile at the trap avoided. 
         Added lamps not apparent in that glowing corner; recessed spots somewhere. 
         High backed chairs. Measured insets in the wall. 
         One and a half metre chandelier that is too broad for the room, especially given the low ceiling. 
         The door requires a bell for admittance, the size of lock audible in the tight, vacuum close. 
         Days past numerous suspicious glances have been cast in the direction of the unshaved observer casing the joint. Not in evidence today: positively angelic Come hither glances at the panama and knitted tee. (The usual Bonds does ring alarm bells in these quarters.) 
         A dozen bulbs emitting candle-light absorbed by the dark panelling and black furniture. 
         Carpet was a field of virgin snow. 
         Later the shiny-headed former rowdy boy who gains admittance with his wife knows to bow in thanks.
         Dumb-show street theatre better than the paying kind, Café e Cucina affording front row seat. (Greek emigrant from the sixties struck it lucky there.)