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Let me tell you! I I fell that's the living truth!" But Zureda shook the truth out of her with threats, almost with violence. "Manolo's been beating you, eh? He has, hasn't he?" She began to sob, still trying to deny it, not wanting to accuse her heart's darling. The old engineer repeated, trembling with rage: "He beat you, eh? What?" Rafaela took a long time to answer.
High up in the Gothic steeple, the bells were swinging, gay and clangorous. A neighbor, passing, said to the old engineer: "Well, Manolo's showed up." "When?" asked Zureda, phlegmatically. "Last night." "Where did you see him?" "At Honorio's inn." "A great one, that boy is! He's certainly some fine lad! Never came near me!" The day drew on, without anything happening.
Amadeo pondered this, and decided it was true. The boy did not seem his. Manolo's outlaw way of living did not stop here. Taking advantage of his mother's love and of the quiet disposition of Amadeo, almost every day he showed the very greatest need of money. "I've got to have a hundred pesetas," he would say. "I've just got to have them! If you people don't come across, well, all right!
Understand? I'm ready for you! That's why I've brought you 'way out here." As he spoke, slowly, his stern spirit caught fire. His cheeks grew pale, and in his jacket pockets his fists knotted. Manolo's savage blood began to boil, as well. "Don't make me say anything, you!" he flung at his father. He turned as if to walk away.
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