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Chapter 3
When,withherarmsfoldedtightunderheramplebosom,shescoldedthesquat,thick-leggedChinagirlshandlinglinen,pluckingfowls,poundingcorninwoodenmortarsamongstthemudoutbuildingsatthebackofthehouse,shecouldbringoutsuchanimpassioned,vibrating,sepulchralnotethatthechainedwatch-dogboltedintohiskennelwithagreatrattle.Luis,acinnamon-colouredmulattowithasproutingmoustacheandthick,darklips,wouldstopsweepingthecafewithabroomofpalm-leavestoletagentleshudderrundownhisspine.Hislanguishingalmondeyeswouldremainclosedforalongtime.
ThiswasthestaffoftheCasaViola,butallthesepeoplehadfledearlythatmorningatthefirstsoundsoftheriot,preferringtohideontheplainratherthantrustthemselvesinthehouse;apreferenceforwhichtheywereinnowaytoblame,since,whethertrueornot,itwasgenerallybelievedinthetownthattheGaribaldinohadsomemoneyburiedundertheclayfloorofthekitchen.Thedog,anirritable,shaggybrute,barkedviolentlyandwhinedplaintivelyinturnsattheback,runninginandoutofhiskennelasrageorfearpromptedhim.
Burstsofgreatshoutingroseanddiedaway,likewildgustsofwindontheplainroundthebarricadedhouse;thefitfulpoppingofshotsgrewlouderabovetheyelling.