Sometimes I would be torn from my book, in the middle of the afternoon, by the gardener's daughter, who came running like a mad thing, overturning an orange-tree in its tub, cutting a finger, breaking a tooth, and screaming out "They're coming, they're coming!" so that Françoise and I should run too and not miss anything of the show.
Batzuetan, erauzi egiten ninduen irakurketatik, arratsaldearen erdian, lorazainaren alabak, zoro baten gisa korrika, itsumustuan laranjondo bat zangopilatuz, atzamar batean ebakia eginez, hortz bat ere hautsiz, eta oihuka: "Hemen dira, hemen dira!", Françoise eta biok lehian ingura gintezen, eta ikuskizunaren ezein xehetasun huts egin ez genezan.