"
"Me, too."
They both went to the San Millan cafe, sat down and waited
impatiently. At the hour indicated Roberto appeared in company of his
cousin whom he called Fanny. She was a woman between thirty and forty,
very slender, with a sallow complexion,--a distinguished, masculine
type; there was about her something of the graceless beauty of a
racehorse; her nose was curved, her jaw big, her cheeks sunken and her
eyes grey and cold. She wore a jacket of dark green taffeta, a black
skirt and a small hat.
Leandro and Manuel greeted her with exceeding timidity and
awkwardness; they shook hands with Roberto and conversed.
"My cousin," said Roberto, "would like to see something of slum life
hereabouts."
"Whenever you wish," answered Leandro. "But I warn you beforehand that
there are some pretty tough specimens in this vicinity."
"Oh, I'm prepared," said the lady, with a slight foreign accent,
showing a revolver of small calibre.
Roberto paid, despite Leandro's protests, and they left the cafe.
Coming out on the Plaza del Rastro, they walked down the Ribera de
Curtidores as far as the Ronda de Toledo.
"If the lady wishes to see the house we live in, this is the one,"
said Leandro.
They went into the Corralon; a crowd of gamins and old women, amazed
to see such a strange woman there at such an hour, surrounded them,
showering Manuel and Leandro with questions.
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