She could not take it anymore. She was convinced that she could no longer endure the presence of that hateful vagabond. She was determined to end it, end everything, no matter how bad it might be, rather than bear his tyranny.
It had nearly been fifteen days with that struggle. What she didn't understand was the tolerance that Antonio had with that vagabond. No, truthfully, it was strange.
The vagabond begged for hospitality for one night: the night of Ash Wednesday exactly, when the wind dragged along a blackish dust, whirling, and whipped the glass windows with a dry crackle. Afterwards, the wind ceased, and there befell a strange calm to the earth, and she pondered, while closing and adjusting the window blinds.
--I don't like this calm--
She hadn't even locked the back door when that man arrived. She heard his call ringing from behind the door in the kitchen:
Mariana felt sudden fear. The man, old and raggedy, ...