United States or Panama ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The proprietors for the time being of the villa gave me some of Inez de Castro's hair, which they had collected when her tomb was violated during the Napoleonic wars. It is fair hair.
To you Castro's moral and intellectual state seems good, does it not?" "Yes." "Well, to me it seems horrifying. Sordid vice, obscure adultery; gambling, bullying, usury, hunger... You think it ought to keep on being just as it was before I was Deputy for the District. Do you not?" "I do." "That I have been a disturbance, an enemy to public tranquillity." "Exactly."
As a rule Doña Modeste Castro's proud head and strange beauty had been one of the living pictures of that historical sala, but she was not there to-night. As Captain Brotherton and Lieutenant Russell entered, Doña Eustaquia was waging war against Mr. Larkin.
Farther away in the darkness, beyond the reach of light, Seraphina on her bed of leaves did not stir. But what was that hat doing there? Castro's hat. It asserted its existence more than it ever did on the head of its master; black and rusty, like a battered cone of iron, reposing on a wide flange near the ashes. Then he was not gone. He would not start to walk three leagues, bare-headed.
What do you want?" she asked in a low voice, at the same time leading him to the side of the room further away from her lover. Jose Castro's first words were in Spanish, but immediately perceiving that he failed to make her understand, he nodded comprehendingly, and said: "All righta I espeak Engleesh I am Jose Castro too well known to the Maestro. I want to see 'im."
"What folly!" uttered Castro's sombre voice. "You women do not mind how many corpses come into your imaginings of love. The mere whisper of such a thing " She murmured swiftly. He interrupted her. "Thine eyes, La Chica thine eyes see only the silliness of thine own heart. Think of thine own lovers, nina.
A display of all the bravery of attire and personal graces of man and maid was in order. The soldier drifted into the land of dreams haunted by Juanita Castro's love-lit eyes and rare, shy smile. No vision disturbed him of the foothold gained in Oregon by the Yankees. They sailed past the entrance of San Francisco Bay, on the Columbia, in 1797, but they found the great river of the northwest.
Under the inner curve of the vaulted gateway a black-faced man on guard, with a bell-mouthed gun, rose from a stool at our passing. I thought I saw Castro's peaked hat and large cloak flit in the gloom into which fell the light from the small doorway of a sort of guardroom near the closed gate.
We pulled only a stroke or two nearer to the stern, and stopped. I remembered Castro's warning the blindness of flying lead; but it was the profound stillness that checked me. It seemed to portend something inconceivable. I hailed, tentatively, as if I had not expected to be answered, "Ship, ahoy!"
By the year 1901, in which Venezuela adopted another constitution, the revolutionary disturbances had materially diminished the revenues from the customs. Furthermore Castro's regulations exacting military service of all males between fourteen and sixty years of age had filled the prisons to overflowing.
Word Of The Day