Leche derramada (Narrativa) (Spanish Edition)

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To hit on the nail, dar en el clavo, name. If need be, si fuese necesario, neither. Neither the one nor the other, ni uno ni otro. The next life, la otra vida, nick. In the nick of time, por un pelo; old — , el diablo. To-night, esta noche, no. To lead by the nose, arrastrar como por fuerza; to thrust the — into, entreme- terse.

Good for nothing, para nada sir- ve; to come to — , hacer en vano, notice. Take no notice of it, no hagas caso de ello. To set to ndbght, menospreciar, now. Now and then, de vez en cuando; just — , ahora mismo. I have no objection, no tenge inconveniente en ello. Oblige Passion oblige.

To have occasion, ofrecerse, odd. Three hundred and odd pounds, tre- cientas y tantas iibras. How far off is it? How often? Not—, rara vez. How old are you? In ordinary, en servicio actual, out. To be at the pains of, tomarse al trabajo de. The pangs of death, las ansias de la muerte. To pant for, suspirar por. To parcel out, hacer particiones, part. In particular, particularmente, pass. To put into a passion, encolerizar. Past Pray past. To be out of patience, perder la paciencia. I have not a penny, no teng-o un cuarto.

To perish with hung-er, perecer de hambre. To g-et in a pet, atufarse, phrase. As the phrase goes, como suelen decir. A piece of wit, una ag-udeza; a — , cada uno.

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He finds himself in a pinch, se halla en un apuro; on a — , cuando fuere menester. The pith of life, lo mejor de la vida, pity. In the first place, en primer lugar, plain. Do as you please, haga Vd. What is your pleasure, madam? Poached eggs, huevos embarcados, point. Poor thing! To take pot-luck, hacer peniten- cia. Pray, what is your name? Redeem Prayer U4 prayer. Pretty well, medianamente ; — near, bastante cerca.

To puff with pride, llenarse de vani- dad. To pull a sound, arrancar; to — to pieces, hacer pedazos. To pick a quarrel, armar penden- cia. From all quarters, de todas par- tes. To put to the rack, dar tormento, raise. A rallying word, voz de batalla, random. Raw silk, seda en rama, ready. Ready money, dinero, contante; — payment, paga pronta; to make — , prepa- rar.

Dead reckoning, rumbo esti- mado. Past recovery, no tiene remedio, redeem. Regard Scum regard. A cunning rogue ; un picaro tai- mado. To roll in money, nadar en riquezas; French — , panecillo. To root up, or out, arrancar de raiz. Rough diamond, diamanteen bruto, round. My head turns round, se me va la cabeza; all the year — , todo el ano; to go — , andar al rededor. It is not worth a rush, no vale un bledo. Safe and sound, sano y salvo, sail.

Sallies of wit, agudezas, save. God save the king, viva el Rey. Money is scarce, el dinero anda escaso. Upon what score? The scum of the people, la canalla. Sea Since sea. The main sea, alta mar; narrow — estrecho de mar; heavy — , oleada; high- swelling-—, mar de leva; half-seas over, medio borracho.

Country-seat, casa de campo, second. A man of sense, hombre de juicio, serious. Are you serious? Habla Vd. A — business, asunto de gravedad, service. To settle disputes, zanjar las dispu- tas; to — accounts, ajustar cuentas, shake. To shake for fear, temblar de miedo; to — with laughter, caerse de risa, shift. To shoot through, atraversar; to — oft', llevarse. Shouts of applause, vivas, show.

To make a show of anger, aparentar enfado; to make a fine — , hacer gran papel. To shut up, cerrar completamente, sicken. The fever slakens, afloja la ca- lentura. To slide into an error, caer en error, slight. Slig-ht of hand, jueg-o de manos, slip. Mv watch g-oes too slow, mi reloj se atrasa. To make small, achicar, smell. To sneak along-, andar cabizbajo, so. Which way soever, por donde quie- ra. This is something- like, esto si que me g-usta soon. How soon will you be back? I am sorry for it, lo siento, soul. Not a soul in the house, nadie en casa; upon my — , en mi alma, sound.

Sound asleep, sueno profundo, spare. Spare hours, horas de recreo; — money, dinero que dar; — of speech, escaso de palabras. To be in g-ood spirits, estar alegre; to have a high — , ser altivo, split. To split with laughing, reventar de risa. Spoiled child, nino mimado, spot. On the spot, incontinente, spread.

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Spring-lock, cerradura de golpe, square. To put all at stake, aventurarlo todo. Stark Tea stark. Stark naked, completamente des- nudo. To fie in state, estar de cuerpo pre- sente. Main-stay, estay mayor; to — away, estar ausente. To steal away from, quitar del medio, stiff.

Stiff gale, viento fuerte, stir. To stir the fire, atizar la lumbre, stone. To leave no stone unturned, no dejar piedra por mover, stop. A house three stories high, casa de tres pisos. Do not strain yourself, no se canse Vd. In the stream, en franquicia, stress. Stretched in bed, tendido en la cama. Stroke of wit, chiste; on the — of eight, al dar las ocho. This garment does not suit me, no me sienta esta prenda, sum. To sum up, en suma, sure. To be sure, seguramente, sway. To turn the sway of battle, cambiar la suerte de una batalla, sweets.

The sweets of fife, las delicias de la vida. Turn Tell tell. To be on tenter-hooks, verse entre la espada y la pared, terms. Upon what terms? To put to the test, poner a prueba; to stand the — , ser de prueba, then. Now and then, de cuando en cuando; and what —? To go through thick and thin, atro- pellar por todo. To grow thin, enflaquecer, thrill. To thrill with pleasure, temblar de gusto. To cut the throat, degollar, through. It thunders, truena, thus. The tide ebbs, la marea mengua; the — flows, la marea crece; full- — , plenamar, time.

Uet us go together, vamos jun- tos; six weeks — , seis semanas seguidas, tongue. A fortified town, una plaza fuerte; a trading — , ciudad mercantil, trade. Que oficio tiene? Trodden path, camino trillado, trespass. To trifle with one, burlarse de uno. Do not trouble yourself, no se moleste Vd.

Ear trumpet, trompetilla, trust. To give on trust, dar fiado, try. We shall try it out, veremos en que para. Things have taken a different turn las cosas han tomado otro semblante. Under Year Under. To come to an under- standing-, convenirse. Ups and downs, altibajos.

To do your utmost, haga Vd. To labor in vain, trabajar en balde, vent. To be vexed, picarse, view. To wag- the tail, colear; to play the — , andarse en chanzas, warning:. To g-ive warning, prevenir, watch. To be upon the watch, estar en quien vive. To swim under water, nadar entre dos aguas. To make way, atraversar; make —! To wear well, durar largo tiempo, well. Well and good, enhorabuena, while. Between whiles , de cuando en cuando. Wide open, abierto de par en par. To wink at a thing, hacerse el de- sentendido.

Within there! To be hard at work, estar muy afa- nado. Worse and worse, de mal en peor, wrap. She is wrapped up in herself, ella es muy presumida. Cotton yarn, hilo de torzal, year. Natural, aproximated pronunciation in English of the Spanish letters, with their respective names. A ah , pronounced as in fad , part, viz. B bai , pronounced as in block , boom , viz. C thai , before a, o and u is pronounced as in cat , cord , cushion , viz.

When before e and i, it has the sound of the English th in theatre , th ck , viz. D dai , as in the English dark , debt, dim , viz. E ai , always pronounced as in bed , tele- graph , viz. G hai , before a, o and u is pronounced the same as the English g in gave, golf, gush, viz.

When before e and i, it has the aspirated sound of h in English hat, hill, viz. I ee , has the same sound as the English ee, viz. J hot-tah , has the aspired sound of the English h in hart, heap, viz. P pai , pronounced as in English, viz. Q koo , in Spanish is always followed by u which is silent and is pro- nounced like the English k, viz. R ai-ray , pronounced as in rabbit, rare, livery , viz. RR air- has the same rolling sound as the ray , English r in rah! Never soft as in advertise. T tay , always pronounced as in the English tap, atrocity, Viz. U oo , pronounced as the oo in English tool, roof, viz.

W doh- like k, it does not belong to the blai-vai , Spanish language, but it is re- tained in imported words, pre- serving its own sound, viz. Exception to this rule: y, at the end of a word, in which case it is pronounced as ee, viz. The following rules should be always remembered : 1. In w r ords of two or more syllables end- ing with a vowel the stress is on the syllable before last, viz.

In words ending with a consonant the stress Is on the last syllable, viz. In words where a vowel is marked with an accent ' the above rules are set aside and the inflection laid on the vowel so accented, viz. Some words change their meaning by as- suming an accent or by shifting the accent, t viz. The following rules should be remembered in forming the plural, viz.

Words ending with a vowel form their plural by adding an s, viz. Words ending with a consonant form their plural by adding es, viz. Exceptions — Words ending in s where the inflection or accent is not on the last syl- lable, do not change at all in their plural, viz.

Words ending in z change this letter into c and add es for their plural, viz. The gender of a word is known by its termination, as following: 1. Nouns ending in o are masculine, with the exception of mano hand which is fem- inine. Nouns ending in a, cion and tion, tad and dad, are feminine. Note — A few nouns in a are masculine, viz. These three genders are manifested by the articles: el mas. These three articles are equivalent tc the English the.

Abedul abarcador ah-bar-cah.

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Abra Acaecedero. Chief cities: Lima capital , ,; Callao chief port , 35,; Orequipa, 35,; Cuzco, 22, Principal exports: sugar, silver and silver pres, cotton, wool. Peruvian minister at Washington. Money unit: silver. Ciudades principales : Lima ca- pital , , ; Callao puerto principal , 35, ; Arequipa, 35,; Cuzco, 22, Ministro americano en Lima.

Ministro peruana en Washington. Principal cities: La Paz 40,, Cochambamba. Immense mineral and timber resources. Large producers of coffee, salpetre, nitrate, etc. Minister of Bolivia at Wash- ington. Bolivian consul at Boston. Ciudades prin- cipales: La Paz Inmensas rique- zas minerales y forestales. Ministro americano en Sucre. Ministro boliviano en Washington. Airullador Asema jar i.

Puerto Rico. Situated be- ' tween lat. Lengthy 95 miles, width, 35 miles. Area, 3, sq. Population, in , about , The island is very mountainous. The principal range of mountains extends from the Capes of San 1 Juan, in the N. The highest peaks are El Yunque, 5, feet, and La Torre- cilla, 3, feet. Of the sixty rivers we may enumerate Loiza. Lignite is fc and at Utuado and Moca, and also yellow amber. A large variety of marbles, lime- stones and other building stones are deposited on the island, but these resources are very undevel- oped. There are saltworks at Guaniea and Sali- nas on the south coast, and at Cape Rojo on the west.

The climate is more wholesome than is usual in the tropical zone, owing to the mountainous character of the land and the continuous breezes from the East. San Juan, the capital, is situated on a small island on the north coast. Other important cities are Bayampn. Situada entre lat. Area, 3, millas cuadradas. De los sesenta rios, mencionaremos el Loiza, La Plata. Otras ciudades importantes son Bayamon, Los puertos prin- cipales son, San Juan, Ponce.

C cabal ca-bahl , just, exact. Caballico Cadente caballico ca-bah- i. Coadyuvar Cola - coad. CH cha cha , f. The Philippine Islands. Manila, the capital, is almost miles from Hongkong, China. Area estimated variously from 52, to , sq. Discovered by Magellan, ; Manila made the capital, ; captured by the English, , re- ' stored, The climate of the Philippines varies little from that of other places in the same lati- tude.

The range of the thermometer during the year is from a little over sixty to about ninety. Products: sugar, hemp, tobacco, coffee, indigo, copra. By the treaty of Paris, , the archipelago was purchased by the United States for 20 million i dollars. Islas Filipinas. Los terremotos son frecuentes. Jilatado dee-lah-tah- doh , large, num- erous; proiix. Mario Merlino Tornini. Karin Von Schweder-Schreiner. Francesco Buarque.

Produced and edited by Almir Chediak Besides the traditional presentation of the Songbook project in melodies, lyrics and harmonies to electric and acustic guitar, Francis wrote, specially to piano's solo, the 30 songs selected for this book. A drop-out from the privileged world of luxury beach apartments and sybaritic obsessions, he has entered the 'other' Brazil of wretched poverty and petty crime.

Jose Costa has just attended the Anonymous Writers Congress in Istanbul and is on his way back to Rio when a bomb scare on his flight forces him to spend a night in Budapest. In Budapest, Buarque introduces the story of a ghostwriter who immerses himself in the Hungarian language. Fated to remain in the shadows of his illustrious clients, Costa breaks free of this fate and spontaneously buys a ticket to Budapest. I watched him lazily as I chewed one of those green stems on which girls tell fortunes. He came along by the bank slowly.

He walked with one hand upon his hip and in the other hand he held a stick with which he tapped the turf lightly. He was shabbily dressed in a suit of greenish-black and wore what we used to call a jerry hat with a high crown. He seemed to be fairly old for his moustache was ashen-grey. When he passed at our feet he glanced up at us Spanish bleaching: blanqueo.

We followed him with our eyes and saw that when he had gone on for perhaps fifty paces he turned about and began to retrace his steps. He walked towards us very slowly, always tapping the ground with his stick, so slowly that I thought he was looking for something in the grass. We answered him and he sat down beside us on the slope slowly and with great care.

He began to talk of the weather, saying that it would be a very hot summer and adding that the seasons had changed greatly since he was a boy--a long time ago. He said that the happiest time of one's life was undoubtedly one's schoolboy days and that he would give anything to be young again. While he expressed these sentiments which bored us a little we kept silent.

Then he began to talk of school and of books. I pretended that I had read every book he mentioned so that in the end he said: "Ah, I can see you are a bookworm like myself. Now," he added, pointing to Mahony who was regarding us with open eyes, "he is different; he goes in for games. The man, however, only smiled. I saw that he had great gaps in his mouth between his yellow teeth. Then he asked us which of us had the most sweethearts. Mahony mentioned lightly that he had three totties. The man asked me how many I had. I answered that I had none.

He did not believe me and said he was sure I must have one. I was silent. In my heart I thought that what he said about boys and sweethearts was reasonable. But I disliked the words in his mouth and I wondered why he shivered once or twice as if he feared something or felt a sudden chill. As he proceeded I noticed that his accent was good. He began to speak to us about girls, saying what nice soft hair they had and how soft their hands were and how all girls were not so good as they seemed to be if one only knew.

There was nothing he liked, he said, so much as looking at a nice young girl, at her nice white hands and her beautiful soft hair. He gave me the impression that he was repeating something which he had learned by heart or that, magnetised by some words of his own speech, his mind was slowly circling round and round in the same orbit. At times he spoke as if he were simply alluding to some fact that everybody knew, and at times he lowered his voice and spoke mysteriously as if he were telling us something secret which he did not wish others to overhear. He repeated his phrases over and over again, varying them and surrounding them with his monotonous voice.

I continued to gaze towards the foot of the slope, listening to him. After a long while his monologue paused. He stood up slowly, saying that he had to leave us for a minute or so, a few minutes, and, without changing the direction of my gaze, I saw him walking slowly away from us towards the near end of the field. We remained silent when he had gone. After a silence of a few minutes I heard Mahony exclaim: "I say! Look what he's doing! He's a queer old josser! I was still considering whether I would go away or not when the man came back and sat down beside us again. The man and I watched the chase.

The cat escaped once more and Mahony began to throw stones at the wall she had escaladed. Desisting from this, he began to wander about the far end of the field, aimlessly. He said that my friend was a very rough boy and asked did he get whipped often at school.

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I was going to reply indignantly that we were not National School boys to be whipped, as he called it; but I remained silent. He began to speak on the subject of chastising boys. His mind, as if magnetised again by his speech, seemed to circle slowly round and round its new centre. He said that when boys were that kind they ought to be whipped and well whipped. When a boy was rough and unruly there was nothing would do him any good but a good sound whipping.

A slap on the hand or a box on the ear was no good: what he wanted was to get a nice warm whipping. I was surprised at this sentiment and involuntarily glanced up at his face. As I did so I met the gaze of a pair of bottle-green eyes peering at me from under a twitching forehead. I turned my eyes away again. The man continued his monologue. He seemed to have forgotten his recent liberalism. He said that if ever he found a boy talking to girls or having a girl for a sweetheart he would whip him and whip him; and that would teach him not to be talking to girls.

And if a boy had a girl for a sweetheart and told lies about it then he would give him such a whipping as no boy ever got in this world. He said that there was nothing in this world he would like so well as that. He described to me how he would whip such a boy as if he were unfolding some elaborate mystery. He would love that, he said, better than anything in this world; and his voice, as he led me monotonously through the mystery, grew almost affectionate and seemed to plead with me that I should understand him.

I waited till his monologue paused again. Then I stood up abruptly. Lest I should betray my agitation I delayed a few moments pretending to fix my shoe properly and then, saying that I was obliged to go, I bade him good-day. James Joyce 19 seize me by the ankles. When I reached the top of the slope I turned round and, without looking at him, called loudly across the field: "Murphy! I had to call the name again before Mahony saw me and hallooed in answer.

How my heart beat as he came running across the field to me! He ran as if to bring me aid. And I was penitent; for in my heart I had always despised him a little. Spanish aid: ayuda, ayudar, asistente, ayudante, la curita, auxilio, socorro. An uninhabited house of two storeys stood at the blind end, detached from its neighbours in a square ground The other houses of the street, conscious of decent lives within them, gazed at one another with brown imperturbable faces.

Air, musty from having been long enclosed, hung in all the rooms, and the waste room behind the kitchen was littered with old useless papers. I liked the last best because its leaves were yellow. The wild garden behind the house contained a central apple-tree and a few straggling bushes under one of which I found the late tenant's rusty bicycle-pump.

He had been a very charitable priest; in his will he had left all his money to institutions and the furniture of his house to his sister. When the short days of winter came dusk fell before we had well eaten our dinners. When we met in the street the houses had grown sombre.

The space of sky above us was the colour of ever-changing violet and towards it the lamps of the street lifted their feeble lanterns. The cold air stung us and we played till our bodies glowed. Our shouts echoed in the silent street. The career of our play Spanish apple-tree: manzano. James Joyce 21 brought us through the dark muddy lanes behind the houses where we ran the gauntlet of the rough tribes from the cottages, to the back doors of the dark dripping gardens where odours arose from the ashpits, to the dark odorous stables where a coachman smoothed and combed the horse or shook music from the buckled harness.

When we returned to the street light from the kitchen windows had filled the areas. If my uncle was seen turning the corner we hid in the shadow until we had seen him safely housed. Or if Mangan's sister came out on the doorstep to call her brother in to his tea we watched her from our shadow peer up and down the street.

We waited to see whether she would remain or go in and, if she remained, we left our shadow and walked up to Mangan's steps resignedly. She was waiting for us, her figure defined by the light from the halfopened door. Her brother always teased her before he obeyed and I stood by the railings looking at her. Her dress swung as she moved her body and the soft rope of her hair tossed from side to side. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash so that I could not be seen.

When she came out on the doorstep my heart leaped. I ran to the hall, seized my books and followed her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and, when we came near the point at which our ways diverged, I quickened my pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had never spoken to her, except for a few casual words, and yet her name was like a summons to all my foolish blood. Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile to romance.

On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the flaring streets, jostled by drunken men and bargaining women, amid the curses of labourers, the shrill litanies of shop-boys who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs' cheeks, the nasal chanting of streetsingers, who sang a come-all-you about O'Donovan Rossa, or a ballad about the troubles in our native land. These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me: I imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and praises which I Spanish ballad: balada. My eyes were often full of tears I could not tell why and at times a flood from my heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her or not or, if I spoke to her, how I could tell her of my confused adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no sound in the house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the rain impinge upon the earth, the fine incessant needles of water playing in the sodden beds.

Some distant lamp or lighted window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: "O love!

O love! At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or no. It would be a splendid bazaar, she said she would love to go. While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round her wrist. She could not go, she said, because there would be a retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys were fighting for their caps and I was alone at the railings. She held one of the spikes, bowing her head towards me. The light from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her neck, lit up her hair that rested there and, falling, lit up the hand upon the railing.

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It fell over one side of her dress and caught the white border of a petticoat, just visible as she stood at ease. James Joyce 23 What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious intervening days.

I chafed against the work of school. At night in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night.

My aunt was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I answered few questions in class. I watched my master's face pass from amiability to sternness; he hoped I was not beginning to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.

He was fussing at the hallstand, looking for the hat-brush, and answered me curtly: "Yes, boy, I know. I left the house in bad humour and walked slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already my heart misgave me. When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been home.

Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time and. I mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house. The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me and I went from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me weakened and indistinct and, leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I looked over at the dark house where she lived. I may have stood there for an hour, seeing nothing but the brown-clad figure cast by my imagination, touched discreetly by the lamplight at the curved neck, at the hand upon the railings and at the border below the dress.

When I came downstairs again I found Mrs. Mercer sitting at the fire. She was an old garrulous woman, a pawnbroker's widow, who collected used stamps for Spanish amiability: amabilidad. I had to endure the gossip of the tea-table. The meal was prolonged beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mercer stood up to go: she was sorry she couldn't wait any longer, but it was after eight o'clock and she did not like to be out late as the night air was bad for her.

When she had gone I began to walk up and down the room, clenching my fists. My aunt said: "I'm afraid you may put off your bazaar for this night of Our Lord. I heard him talking to himself and heard the hallstand rocking when it had received the weight of his overcoat. I could interpret these signs. When he was midway through his dinner I asked him to give me the money to go to the bazaar. He had forgotten. I did not smile.

My aunt said to him energetically: "Can't you give him the money and let him go? You've kept him late enough as it is. He said he believed in the old saying: "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. When I left the kitchen he was about to recite the opening lines of the piece to my aunt. I held a florin tightly in my hand as I strode down Buckingham Street towards the station. The sight of the streets thronged with buyers and glaring with gas recalled to me the purpose of my journey. I took my seat in a third-class carriage of a deserted train. After an intolerable delay the train moved out of the station slowly.

It crept onward among ruinous house and over the twinkling river. At Westland Row Station a crowd of people pressed to the carriage doors; but the porters moved them back, saying that it was a special train for the bazaar. I remained alone in the bare carriage. In a few minutes the train drew up beside an improvised wooden platform. I passed out on to the road and saw by the Spanish clenching: roblonado, apretar.

James Joyce 25 lighted dial of a clock that it was ten minutes to ten. In front of me was a large building which displayed the magical name. I found myself in a big hall girdled at half its height by a gallery. Nearly all the stalls were closed and the greater part of the hall was in darkness. I recognised a silence like that which pervades a church after a service. I walked into the centre of the bazaar timidly. A few people were gathered about the stalls which were still open.

I listened to the fall of the coins. Remembering with difficulty why I had come I went over to one of the stalls and examined porcelain vases and flowered tea- sets. At the door of the stall a young lady was talking and laughing with two young gentlemen. I remarked their English accents and listened vaguely to their conversation. I heard her. The tone of her voice was not encouraging; she seemed to have spoken to me out of a sense of duty.

I looked humbly at the great jars that stood like eastern guards at either side of the dark entrance to the stall and murmured: "No, thank you. They began to talk of the same subject. Once or twice the young lady glanced at me over her shoulder. Then I turned away slowly and walked down the middle of the bazaar. I allowed the two pennies to fall against the sixpence in my pocket. I heard a voice call from one end of the gallery that the light was out. The upper part of the hall was now completely dark.

Spanish allowed: permitido, dejado. Her head was leaned against the window curtains and in her nostrils was the odour of dusty cretonne. She was tired. The man out of the last house passed on his way home; she heard his footsteps clacking along the concrete pavement and afterwards crunching on the cinder path before the new red houses. One time there used to be a field there in which they used to play every evening with other people's children. Then a man from Belfast bought the field and built houses in it--not like their little brown houses but bright brick houses with shining roofs.

The children of the avenue used to play together in that field --the Devines, the Waters, the Dunns, little Keogh the cripple, she and her brothers and sisters. Ernest, however, never played: he was too grown up. Her father used often to hunt them in out of the field with his blackthorn stick; but usually little Keogh used to keep nix and call out when he saw her father coming. Still they seemed to have been rather happy then. Her father was not so bad then; and besides, her mother was alive. That was a long time ago; she and her brothers and sisters were all grown up her mother was dead.

Tizzie Dunn was dead, too, and the Waters had gone back to England. Everything changes. Now she was going to go away like the others, to leave her home. Perhaps she would never see again those familiar objects from which she had never dreamed of being divided. And yet during all those years she had never found out the name of the priest whose yellowing photograph hung on the wall above the broken harmonium beside the coloured print of the promises made to Blessed Margaret Mary Alacoque.

He had been a school friend of her father. Whenever he showed the photograph to a visitor her father used to pass it with a casual word: "He is in Melbourne now. Was that wise? She tried to weigh each side of the question. In her home anyway she had shelter and food; she had those whom she had known all her life about her. O course she had to work hard, both in the house and at business.

What would they say of her in the Stores when they found out that she had run away with a fellow? Say she was a fool, perhaps; and her place would be filled up by advertisement. Miss Gavan would be glad. She had always had an edge on her, especially whenever there were people listening. But in her new home, in a distant unknown country, it would not be like that. Then she would be married--she, Eveline.

People would treat her with respect then. She would not be treated as her mother had been. Even now, though she was over nineteen, she sometimes felt herself in danger of her father's violence. She knew it was that that had given her the palpitations. When they were growing up he had never gone for her like he used to go for Harry and Ernest, because she was a girl but latterly he had begun to threaten her and say what he would do to her only for her dead mother's sake.

And no she had nobody to protect her. Ernest was dead and Harry, who was in the church decorating Spanish advertisement: anuncio, reclamo, aviso, el anuncio. James Joyce 29 business, was nearly always down somewhere in the country. Besides, the invariable squabble for money on Saturday nights had begun to weary her unspeakably. She always gave her entire wages--seven shillings--and Harry always sent up what he could but the trouble was to get any money from her father. He said she used to squander the money, that she had no head, that he wasn't going to give her his hard-earned money to throw about the streets, and much more, for he was usually fairly bad on Saturday night.

In the end he would give her the money and ask her had she any intention of buying Sunday's dinner. Then she had to rush out as quickly as she could and do her marketing, holding her black leather purse tightly in her hand as she elbowed her way through the crowds and returning home late under her load of provisions. She had hard work to keep the house together and to see that the two young children who had been left to hr charge went to school regularly and got their meals regularly.

It was hard work--a hard life--but now that she was about to leave it she did not find it a wholly undesirable life. Frank was very kind, manly, open-hearted. She was to go away with him by the night-boat to be his wife and to live with him in Buenos Ayres where he had a home waiting for her. How well she remembered the first time she had seen him; he was lodging in a house on the main road where she used to visit. It seemed a few weeks ago. He was standing at the gate, his peaked cap pushed back on his head and his hair tumbled forward over a face of bronze.

Then they had come to know each other. He used to meet her outside the Stores every evening and see her home. He took her to see The Bohemian Girl and she felt elated as she sat in an unaccustomed part of the theatre with him. He was awfully fond of music and sang a little. People knew that they were courting and, when he sang about the lass that loves a sailor, she always felt pleasantly confused. He used to call her Poppens out of fun. First of all it had been an excitement for her to have a fellow and then she had begun to like him.

He had tales of distant countries. He had started as a deck boy at a pound a month on a ship of the Allan Line going out to Canada. He told her the names of the ships he had been on and the names of the different services. He had sailed through the Straits of Magellan and he told her stories of Spanish awfully: terriblemente. He had fallen on his feet in Buenos Ayres, he said, and had come over to the old country just for a holiday. Of course, her father had found out the affair and had forbidden her to have anything to say to him.

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I hid my books in the long grass near the ashpit at the end of the garden where nobody ever came and hurried along the canal bank. When we were making the last arrangements on the eve we were all vaguely excited. Rather than supply a single translation, many words are translated for a variety of meanings in Spanish, allowing readers to better grasp the ambiguity of English, and avoid them using the notes as a pure translation crutch. Neil is working with many students and families in the creation of these beautiful and stunning pieces. Free Sonidos De La Granja.

One day he had quarrelled with Frank and after that she had to meet her lover secretly. The evening deepened in the avenue. The white of two letters in her lap grew indistinct. One was to Harry; the other was to her father. Ernest had been her favourite but she liked Harry too. Her father was becoming old lately, she noticed; he would miss her. Sometimes he could be very nice. Not long before, when she had been laid up for a day, he had read her out a ghost story and made toast for her at the fire. Another day, when their mother was alive, they had all gone for a picnic to the Hill of Howth.

She remembered her father putting on her mothers bonnet to make the children laugh. Her time was running out but she continued to sit by the window, leaning her head against the window curtain, inhaling the odour of dusty cretonne. Down far in the avenue she could hear a street organ playing.

She knew the air Strange that it should come that very night to remind her of the promise to her mother, her promise to keep the home together as long as she could. She remembered the last night of her mother's illness; she was again in the close dark room at the other side of the hall and outside she heard a melancholy air of Italy. The organ-player had been ordered to go away and given sixpence.

She remembered her father strutting back into the sickroom saying: "Damned Italians! She trembled as she heard again her mother's voice saying constantly with foolish insistence: "Derevaun Seraun! Derevaun Seraun! James Joyce 31 She stood up in a sudden impulse of terror. She must escape! Frank would save her. He would give her life, perhaps love, too. But she wanted to live. Why should she be unhappy? She had a right to happiness.

Frank would take her in his arms, fold her in his arms. He would save her. He held her hand and she knew that he was speaking to her, saying something about the passage over and over again. The station was full of soldiers with brown baggages. Through the wide doors of the sheds she caught a glimpse of the black mass of the boat, lying in beside the quay wall, with illumined portholes. She answered nothing. She felt her cheek pale and cold and, out of a maze of distress, she prayed to God to direct her, to show her what was her duty.

The boat blew a long mournful whistle into the mist. If she went, tomorrow she would be on the sea with Frank, steaming towards Buenos Ayres.

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Their passage had been booked. Could she still draw back after all he had done for her? Her distress awoke a nausea in her body and she kept moving her lips in silent fervent prayer. A bell clanged upon her heart. She felt him seize her hand: "Come! He was drawing her into them: he would drown her. She gripped with both hands at the iron railing. It was impossible. Her hands clutched the iron in frenzy. Amid the seas she sent a cry of anguish.

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He was shouted at to go on but he still called to her. She set her white face to him, passive, like a helpless animal. Her eyes gave him no sign of love or farewell or recognition. Spanish amid: en medio de, entre. At the crest of the hill at Inchicore sightseers had gathered in clumps to watch the cars careering homeward and through this channel of poverty and inaction the Continent sped its wealth and industry. Now and again the clumps of people raised the cheer of the gratefully oppressed.

Their sympathy, however, was for the blue cars--the cars of their friends, the French. The French, moreover, were virtual victors. Their team had finished solidly; they had been placed second and third and the driver of the winning German car was reported a Belgian. Each blue car, therefore, received a double measure of welcome as it topped the crest of the hill and each cheer of welcome was acknowledged with smiles and nods by those in the car. In one of these trimly built cars was a party of four young men whose spirits seemed to be at present well above the level of successful Gallicism: in fact, these four young men were almost hilarious.

James Joyce 33 who were cousins were also in good humour because of the success of the French cars. Villona was in good humour because he had had a very satisfactory luncheon; and besides he was an optimist by nature. The fourth member of the party, however, was too excited to be genuinely happy.

His father, who had begun life as an advanced Nationalist, had modified his views early. He had made his money as a butcher in Kingstown and by opening shops in Dublin and in the suburbs he had made his money many times over. He had also been fortunate enough to secure some of the police contracts and in the end he had become rich enough to be alluded to in the Dublin newspapers as a merchant prince.

He had sent his son to England to be educated in a big Catholic college and had afterwards sent him to Dublin University to study law. Jimmy did not study very earnestly and took to bad courses for a while. He had money and he was popular; and he divided his time curiously between musical and motoring circles. Then he had been sent for a term to Cambridge to see a little life.

His father, remonstrative, but covertly proud of the excess, had paid his bills and brought him home. They were not much more than acquaintances as yet but Jimmy found great pleasure in the society of one who had seen so much of the world and was reputed to own some of the biggest hotels in France. Such a person as his father agreed was well worth knowing, even if he had not been the charming companion he was. Villona was entertaining also--a brilliant pianist--but, unfortunately, very poor.

The car ran on merrily with its cargo of hilarious youth.

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The two cousins sat on the front seat; Jimmy and his Hungarian friend sat behind. Decidedly Villona was in excellent spirits; he kept up a deep bass hum of melody for miles of the road The Frenchmen flung their laughter and light words over their shoulders and often Jimmy had to strain forward to catch the quick phrase. This was not altogether pleasant for him, as he had nearly always to make a deft guess at the meaning and shout back a suitable answer in the face of a high wind. Besides Villona's humming would confuse anybody; the noise of the car, too.

Spanish acquaintances: conocidos. These were three good reasons for Jimmy's excitement. He had been seen by many of his friends that day in the company of these Continentals. It was pleasant after that honour to return to the profane world of spectators amid nudges and significant looks. Then as to money--he really had a great sum under his control. This knowledge had previously kept his bills within the limits of reasonable recklessness, and if he had been so conscious of the labour latent in money when there had been question merely of some freak of the higher intelligence, how much more so now when he was about to stake the greater part of his substance!

It was a serious thing for him. Jimmy had a respect for his father's shrewdness in business matters and in this case it had been his father who had first suggested the investment; money to be made in the motor business, pots of money. Jimmy set out to translate into days' work that lordly car in which he sat.