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Updated: May 17, 2025
She was the first to speak, as if she were terrified by the sadness and dejection of that huge giant who wandered about as peevish as a sick man. She threw her arms around him, kissed his forehead, made a thousand gracious efforts to bring a faint smile to his face. "Who loved him? His Josephina. His Maja but not his Maja Desnuda; that was over forever.
One leg is broken off, but I hunted around and found it, and I guess we can fix it on. And there are two more old chairs and a queer little oval table with a cracked swing mirror on it." "I have it," exclaimed Sara, with a burst of inspiration, "let us fix up a real old-fashioned room for Aunt Josephina. It won't do to put anything modern with those old things. One would kill the other.
And he declared it in such a way, looking at Concha with alarming eyes, that she finally laughed at his frankness and threatened him with her finger. "Take care, master. Don't forget that Josephina is my friend and if you go astray, I'll tell her everything."
One afternoon when a scorching wind seemed to stifle the countryside with its breath, Josephina capitulated. They were in their room, with the windows closed, trying to escape the terrible sirocco by shutting it out and putting on thin clothes. She did not want to see her husband with such a gloomy face nor listen to his complaints.
They used to reach the trattoria at night in a merry company she on his arm and around them the friends whose admiration for the promising young painter attracted them to him. Josephina worshiped the mysteries of the kitchen, the traditional secrets of the solemn table of the princes of the Church, which had come down to the street, taking refuge in that little room.
He read the first lines of some of them, with a strange feeling, as if they were written by another man, wondering at their passionate tone. And it was he who had written that! How he loved Josephina then! It did not seem possible that this affection could have ended so coldly.
"They were all the guide I had; but it is my best, my supreme work." They were all the portraits of the dead woman, taken down from the walls and placed on easels or chairs in a close circle around the canvas. His friend could not contain his astonishment, he could not pretend any longer, overcome by surprise. "Oh, but it is But you have been trying to paint Josephina!"
He owed his thanks to López de Sosa for taking them outdoors on these dizzy rides from which Josephina returned greatly quieted. Renovales preferred his pupil. He was almost his son, he had fought many a hard battle to give him fellowships and prizes.
He pulled up, and Sara climbed into the wagon. "Things go all right today, Sally?" he asked cheerfully. "There was a letter from Aunt Josephina," answered Sara, anxious to get the worst over, "and she wants to come to Maple Hollow for the winter. I thought at first we just couldn't have her, but I decided to leave it to you."
She saw him come to her with open arms, take her in a close embrace, fall at her feet with a hoarse cry, as if he were stifling; and she, gently and sympathetically encouraged him, bending her head, offering her lips with an automatic loving expression which was the implement of her profession. The kiss was enough to overcome the master completely. "Josephina! Josephina!"
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