He pocketed the lighter and looked at his watch, turning his wrist upwards with a neat flick. "Allons-nous-en," he added, "vámonos," and laughed yawningly with a series of nods that seemed to carry his body forward until his head was resting between his hands. Then he rose and joined M. Laruelle at the parapet, drawing deep breaths. "Ah, but this is the hour I love, with the sun coming down, when all the man began to sing and all the dogs to bark—"
Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano
On (...)