As the narrator approaches the Old Phoenix:
"The signboard creaked faintly overhead in the wind." (p. 107)
Faintly, not loudly or threateningly: it is ambiguous as yet what kind of reception he will have in the inn. (By now, I notice any reference to the wind whether it is meaningful or not.)
Inside, an overheard conversation:
"'- battle tomorrow or the day after,' said he in the toga. 'At Philippi, I think. Harder will be what comes after, to restore the Republic." (p. 109)
- spoken in classical Latin. Highly relevant after our recent discussion in Ecce Romani.
The barmaid to the narrator:
"'Three score and ten summers, the Book says. I should think yer couldn't afford ter waste time.'" (pp. 109-110)
Sound advice in any text. In our meditation group, we recite a text by Zen Master Dogen which says:
"If you want to find it quickly, you must start at once."
That was a quick breakfast post on a Saturday morning before proceeding into town for some usual weekend activities which might include a curry from a market stall.
Onward, Earthlings.