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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Who killed Chica's father, and blew her home to-rags? Who threw her out into this horrible England pardon, mademoiselle, but it is horrible. Ah! les Boches! If my hatred could destroy them there would not be one left. Even my husband was not so mad about his painting when we lived at home. But here !" Her eyes darted at his face again, and then sank as if rebuked.
Liverpool and me walked into it side by side, from force of habit, past the calabosa and the Hotel Grande, down across the plaza toward Chica's hut, where we hoped that Liverpool, being a husband of hers, might work his luck for a meal.
The unconcerned manner in which he busied himself his head within striking distance of my fist in lighting the extinguished candle from the trembling Chica's humiliated me beyond expression. He had some difficulty with that, till he said to her just audibly, "Calm thyself, niña," and she became rigid in her appearance of excessive terror.
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