Excerpt from The Inheritors: An Extravagant Story

"Ideas," she said. "Oh, as for ideas -"

"Well?" I hazarded, "as for ideas - ?"

We went through the old gateway and I cast a glance over my shoulder. The noon sun was shining over the masonry, over the little saints' effigies, over the little fretted canopies, the grime and the white streaks of bird-dropping.

"There," I said, pointing toward it, "doesn't that suggest something to you?"

She made a motion with her head-half negative, half contemptuous.

"But," I stuttered, "the associations - the ideas - the historical ideas -"

She said nothing.

"You Americans," I began, but her smile stopped me.

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