One afternoon El Carnicerin was speaking to a friend. Manuel drew
near so as to overhear the conversation.
"Is that the girl?" his friend inquired.
"She's the one."
"Boy, maybe she isn't daffy over you."
And El Carnicerin, with a conceited smile, added:
"I've turned her head, all right."
Manuel could have torn out the fop's heart at that moment.
His disappointment in love made him think of leaving Senor
Custodio's house.
One day he met, near the Segovia bridge, El Bizco and another
ragamuffin that was with him.
They were both in tatters; El Bizco looked grimmer and more brutish
than ever. He wore an old jacket through the rents of which peered
his dark skin; according to what they said, they were both on their
way to the intersection of Aravaca road and the Extremadura
cart-road, to a spot they called the Confessionary. They expected to
meet El Cura and El Hospiciano there and rob a house.
"What do you say? Will you join us?" asked El Bizco sarcastically.
"No, I won't."
"Where are you now?"
"In a house ... working."
"There's a brave fool for you! Come on, join us."
"No. I can't.... Listen, how about Vidal? Didn't you ever see him
again?"
El Bizco's face turned grimmer than ever.
"I'll get even with that scoundrel. He won't escape before I carve a
nice scar on his face.
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