"
"Get away. Leave me in peace!" she retorted rudely.
"Your father told you to be back home by night. Come along, now."
"See here, my child," interposed El Carnicerin with calm deliberation.
"Who gave you a taper to bear at this funeral?"
"I was entrusted to...."
"All right. Shut up. Understand?"
"I don't feel like it."
"Well, I'll make you with a good ear-warming."
"You make me? ... Why, you're nothing but a low-down lout, a thief--"
and Manuel was advancing against El Carnicerin, when one of the
fellow's friends gave him a punch in the head that stunned him. The
boy made another attempt to rush upon the butcher's son; two or three
guests pushed him out of the way and shoved him out on to the road at
the door of the inn.
"Starveling! ... Loafer!" shouted Manuel.
"You're one yourself," cried one of Justa's friends tauntingly after
him. "Rabble! Guttersnipe!"
Manuel, filled with shame and thirsting for vengeance, still half
dazed by the blow, thrust his cap down over his face and stamped along
the road weeping with rage. Soon after he left he heard somebody
running toward him from behind.
"Manuel, Manolillo," said Justa to him in an affectionate, jesting
voice. "What's the matter?"
Manuel breathed heavily and a long sigh of grief escaped him.
"What's the matter? Come, let's return.
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