On the shelves and on the
floor, separated according to class and size, were flasks, bottles,
jars, canisters, a veritable army of glass and porcelain pots; the
ranks were broken by those huge, green, dropsical pharmacy bottles,
and several heavy-paunched demi-johns; then came half-gallon bottles,
tall and dark; straw-covered vases; this was followed by the section
devoted to medicinal waters, the most varied and numerous of all, for
it included Seltzer-water siphons, oxygenized-water siphons, bottles
of gaseous water, Vichy, Mondariz, Carabana; after this came the small
fry, the perfume phials, the pots, the cold-cream jars, the cosmetic
receptacles.
In addition to this department of bottles there were others:
canned-goods tins and pans ranged on shelves; buttons and keys kept in
chests; remnants, ribbons and laces rolled around spools or cardboard.
All this struck Manuel as quite pleasant. Everything was in its proper
place, relatively spick and span; the hand of a methodical, neat
person was in evidence.
In the kitchen, which was kalsomined, shone the few scullery utensils.
On the hearth, above the white ashes, an earthenware stew-pot was
boiling away with a gentle purring.
From outside there scarcely came the distant noises of the city, which
filtered in like a pale sound; it was as quiet as in a remote hamlet;
now and then a dog would bark, some cart would creak as it bumped
along the road, then silence would be restored and in the kitchen
nothing would be heard save the _glu glu_ of the pot, like a
soft, confidential murmur.
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