Moving behind green and yellow windowshades drawn against the incandescence of the sun, doing business, after the siesta, over a glass of rum-punch and a long pale cigar, the gentlemen of Havana, Cuba, deported themselves last week as usual. They came in at dusk from their offices and clubs, from exercise in fencing-school and walks on the Prado; they thought comfortably that it was still some time before they must start dressing for dinner, and noticed with astonishment the blackness of the air. Was there going to be a storm, they wondered?


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