"Out into the street with you!" she bawled at him, seizing him by the
arm and sinking her nails into his flesh. "And make sure that I never
see you here again, for I'll brain you!"
Manuel, stricken with shame and confusion, wished nothing better at
that moment than a chance to escape, and he dashed into the street as
fast as he could get there, like a beaten cur. The night was cool and
inviting. As he didn't have a centimo, he soon wearied of sauntering
about; he called at the bakery, asked for Karl the baker, they opened
the place to him and he stretched himself out on one of the beds. At
dawn he was awakened by the voice of one of the bakers, who was
shouting:
"Hey, you! Loafer! Clear out!"
Manuel got up and went out into the street. He strolled along toward
the Viaduct, to his favourite spot, to survey the landscape and
Segovia street.
It was a glorious spring morning. In the grove near the Campo del Moro
some soldiers were drilling to the sound of bugle and drums; from a
stone chimney on the Ronda de Segovia puffs of dark smoke issued forth
to stain the clear, diaphanous sky; in the laundries on the banks of
the Manzanares the clothes hung out to dry shone with a white
refulgence.
Manuel slowly crossed the Viaduct, reached Las Vistillas and watched
some rag-dealers sorting out their materials after emptying the
contents of their sacks upon the ground.
Pages:
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184