The landlady said that they'd have to take the sick woman to the
hospital; but as she was a kind-hearted soul she did not insist.
Petra had already confessed several times to the priest of the house.
Manuel's sisters came from time to time, but neither brought the money
necessary to the purchase of the medicines and the food that were
prescribed by the doctor.
One Sunday, toward night, Petra took a turn for the worse; during the
afternoon she had been conversing spiritedly with her daughters; but
this animation had subsided until she was overwhelmed by a mortal
collapse.
That Sunday night Dona Casiana's lodgers had an unusually succulent
supper, and after the supper several ronquillas for dessert, watered
by the purest concoction of the Prussian distilleries.
The spree was still in progress at ten o'clock. Petra said to Manuel:
"Call Don Jacinto and tell him that I'm worse."
Manuel went to the dining-room. He could barely make out the congested
faces through the thick tobacco smoke that filled the atmosphere. As
Manuel entered, one of the merrymakers said:
"A little less noise; there's somebody sick."
Manuel delivered the message to the priest.
"Your mother's scared, that's all. I'll come a little later," replied
Don Jacinto.
Manuel returned to the room.
"Isn't he coming?" asked the sick woman.
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