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Updated: May 1, 2025
"What are some of the other leading families?" Kirk artfully inquired. "There are a number. The Martinezes, the Moras, the Garavels I couldn't name them all. They are very fine people, too." "Do you know the Chiquitas?" Cortlandt's face relaxed in an involuntary smile. "There is no such family. Who has been teaching you Spanish?" "Really, isn't there?"
"The Garcias' and Martinezes' houses are better if they are mud and haven't any shade," Rose-Ellen told Grandma. "The walls are so thick that inside they're like cool caves." She and Dick had made friends in the Mexican village with Vicente Garcia and her brother Joe, and with Nico Martinez, next door to the Garcias', and her brothers.
An hour after this interview with Susanna, which ended in renewed vows and promises, I was sitting in the stern of our ten-oared boat, together with my father and the two Martinezes, in the dark winter evening, while the moon was sailing behind a countless number of little grey clouds.
But, as my father and the Martinezes had so much to do and our house was not very far, we were to go home as early as the next evening, while most of the others were to wait until the following day. The minister's family, however, were to remain as guests, together with the "notabilities," to the end of the week.
Those Garcias and Martinezes of yours . . . !" "The Garcias maybe, but not the Martinezes," Rose-Ellen objected. "Gramma, you go to their houses sometime and see." One evening Grandma did. Jimmie had come excitedly leading home the quaintest of all the babies of the Mexican village, Vicente Garcia's little sister. He had found her balancing on her stomach on the bank of the ditch.
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