There was a man inside.
"Does anybody live here by the name of Tabuenca?" asked Roberto.
"Yes. What is it?" asked the man.
"I'd like to have a talk with him."
"Well, talk away, then, for I'm Tabuenca."
As the speaker turned, the light of the oil lantern hanging upon the
wall struck him full in the face; Roberto and Manuel stared at him in
amazement. He was a yellow, shrivelled specimen; he had an absurd
nose, as if it had been wrenched from its roots and replaced by a
round little ball of meat. It seemed that he looked at the same time
with his eyes and with the two little nasal orifices. He was
clean-shaven, dressed pretty decently, and wore a round woollen cap
with a green visor.
He listened grumpily to what Roberto had to say; then he lighted a
cigar and flung the match far away. Doubtless because of the exiguity
of his organ, he found it necessary to stop the windows of his nose
with his fingers in order to smoke.
Roberto thought at first that the man had not understood his question,
and he repeated it twice. Tabuenca gave no heed; but all at once,
seized with the utmost indignation, he snatched the cigar furiously
from his mouth and began to blaspheme in a whining, gull-like voice,
shrieking that he couldn't make out why folks pestered him with
matters that didn't concern him a particle.
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