Saturday, same anchorage - hunting in the morning, same place, wind chilly - groups of sheep and buffaloes passing here and there between the palm trees, driven by a ragged child and by a woman; the wind twists and glues the blue clothes of the woman, with a fury - quiet - soon the whole village walks with us, and accompanies us; a young boy climbs to the top of a palm tree to fetch a dove, which had been caught there while falling. After lunch, back to the same spot and farther into another grove. The whole day we made a terrible killing of birds. To bed at 7 p.m., we sleep for 15 hours.