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Updated: May 8, 2025
The wetness of the pavement was soaking through the thin soles of her shoes. "Decide on something, quick," she shivered. "I'm dying of cold!" Enrique exclaimed, with a resolution he thought very like that of a man of the world: "If you want to eat, we'll go to Fornos." The girl made a grimace of horror. "Never!" she cried. "Everybody knows me there!" "Well then, let's go to Moran's."
Sometime later, Dicenta and I became friends, although we were never very intimate, because he felt that I did not appreciate him at his full worth. And it was the truth. I met Alejandro Sawa one evening at the Cafe Fornos, where I had gone with a friend. As a matter of fact, I had never read anything which he had written, but his appearance impressed me.
One night in the Cafe Fornos I am able to vouch for the truth of this incident because, years afterwards, he told me the story himself Dicenta accosted a young man who was sitting at an adjacent table taking supper, and attempted to draw him into discussion, under the impression that it was I. The young man was so frightened that he never dared to open his mouth.
She burst out laughing, one of those frank, bold laughs such as perhaps she had never known since the time when some rich man, setting her feet on the path of sin, had taken from her the gentle happiness of being poor. "And you were talking about going to Fornos?" she demanded. Enrique answered, in shame: "I'm not good enough for you, Alicia! I'm not worthy of you! I'll take you home."
Sadly he bowed to the conviction that another love like the first was impossible. For two months he had been the lover of Cora, a popular girl of the private rooms of the Fornos, a tall, thin, strong Galician beauty as strong, alas, as the other.
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