..."
Then he had to stop to let Justa laugh.
She was not slow in perceiving that she had attracted Manuel, and
despite the fact that he seemed no great conquest to her, she became
serious, egged him on and glanced at him furtively with looks that
sent the boy's blood pounding faster.
After the ragdealer's daughter had left, Manuel felt as if he had
been abandoned to darkness. He thought that he could live for two or
three weeks on her incendiary glances alone.
The next day, when Manuel met El Conejo he listened to the nonsense
that the hunchback spoke, with his eternal harping on the Bishop of
Madrid-Alcala, and then tried to shift the conversation toward the
topic of Senor Custodio and his family.
"Justa's a pretty girl, isn't she?"
"Psch ... yes," and El Conejo looked at Manuel with the reserved
mien of a person concealing a mystery.
"You've known her since she was a kid, haven't you?"
"Yes. But I've known plenty of other girls, too."
"Has she a sweetheart?"
"She must have. Every woman has a sweetheart unless she's mighty
ugly."
"And who is Justa's fellow?"
"Anyone; I shouldn't be surprised if it were the Bishop of
Madrid-Alcala."
El Conejo was a very intelligent looking person; he had a long face,
a curved nose, a broad forehead, tiny, sparkling eyes and a reddish
beard that tapered to a point, like a goat's.
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