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Updated: June 1, 2025
She was trying desperately hard to keep back something that mustn't be heard, and in a flash Carmencita was on her knees beside her. "Oh, Miss Davis, I don't know you much, but I'm so glad, and of course it's awful exciting to get married without knowing you're going to do it; but you mustn't cry, Miss Davis you mustn't, really!" "I'm not crying."
For a moment he did not speak lest his voice be as unsteady as his hands, but, taking out his watch, he looked at it, then put it back with fumbling fingers. "Her first name Miss Barbour's first name," he said, and the dryness of his throat made his words a little indistinct. "What is it?" With mouth rounded into a little ball, Carmencita blew on her stiff finger-tips.
Carlo, blanched with fear at the threats and curses that filled the night, sprang toward the passageway that appeared. Megales plucked him back. "One moment, general. Ladies first. Carmencita, enter." Carlo followed her, after him the governor, and lastly Gabilonda, tearing himself from a whispered conversation with O'Halloran.
Miss Barbour's hand closed over Carmencita's twisting ones, and into her face again sprang color; then she laughed. "We are very hungry, Mr. Van Landing. Would you mind sitting down so we can have lunch?" An hour later Carmencita leaned back in her chair, hands in her lap and eyes closed. Presently one hand went out. "Don't ask me anything for a minute, will you? I've got to think about something.
It's going to be Christmas two days after to-morrow, Father, and the Christ-child wouldn't like it if you let him go!" Carmencita held the sleeve of Van Landing's coat with a sturdy clutch. "He isn't a damanarkist. I can tell by his eyes. They are so lonely-looking. You aren't telling a story, are you Mr. Van? Is it truly truth that you haven't anybody?" "It is truly truth," he said.
I had learned the metaphor, which stands for Andalusia, from my friend Francisco Sevilla, a well-known picador. "Pshaw! The people here say there is no place in Paradise for us!" "Then perhaps you are of Moorish blood or " I stopped, not venturing to add "a Jewess." "Oh come! You must see I'm a gipsy! Wouldn't you like me to tell you la baji?* Did you never hear tell of Carmencita?
"I've no patience with it. If there is a God, He knows the cursed struggle life is with most of us; and if there isn't, prayer is but a waste of time." Carmencita lifted her eyes and for a moment looked in the dark, thin face, embittered by the losing battle of life, as if she had not heard aright, then she laughed softly. "If I didn't know you, dear Mr.
Think no more of Carmencita, or she will bring you to the gallows. "She spoke the truth. I would have been wise to think no more of her; but after that day I could think of nothing else, and walked about always hoping to meet her, but she had left the town. "It was some weeks later, when I had been placed as a night sentinel at one of the town gates that I saw Carmen.
Two days ago she was just a little girl who lived in a place she hated and was too young to go to work, and who had a blind father and no rich friends or relations, and there was nothing nice that could happen just so. "But things don't happen just so. They happen don't anybody know how, I guess." Carmencita nodded at the stars.
"Have you heard people speak of La Carmencita?" she added. "That is me!" "Good!" I said to myself. "Last week I supped with a highway robber; now to-day I will eat ices with a gipsy. When travelling one must see everything." With that I escorted the Señorita Carmen to a café, and we had ices. My gipsy had a strange and wild beauty, a face which astonished at first, but which one could not forget.
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