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Chapter 4

           TheIndiangirls,withhairlikeflowingblackmanes,anddressedonlyinashiftandshortpetticoat,stareddullyfromunderthesquare-cutfringesontheirforeheads;thenoisyfrizzlingoffathadstopped,thefumesfloatedupwardsinsunshine,astrongsmellofburntonionshunginthedrowsyheat,envelopingthehouse;andtheeyelostitselfinavastflatexpanseofgrasstothewest,asiftheplainbetweentheSierraovertoppingSulacoandthecoastrangeawaytheretowardsEsmeraldahadbeenasbigashalftheworld.

           SignoraTeresa,afteranimpressivepause,remonstrated

           “Eh,Giorgio!LeaveCavouraloneandtakecareofyourselfnowwearelostinthiscountryallalonewiththetwochildren,becauseyoucannotliveunderaking.”

           Andwhileshelookedathimshewouldsometimesputherhandhastilytohersidewithashorttwitchofherfinelipsandaknittingofherblack,straighteyebrowslikeaflickerofangrypainoranangrythoughtonherhandsome,regularfeatures.

           Itwaspain;shesuppressedthetwinge.IthadcometoherfirstafewyearsaftertheyhadleftItalytoemigratetoAmericaandsettleatlastinSulacoafterwanderingfromtowntotown,tryingshopkeepinginasmallwayhereandthere;andonceanorganizedenterpriseoffishinginMaldonadoforGiorgio,likethegreatGaribaldi,hadbeenasailorinhistime.

           Sometimesshehadnopatiencewithpain.

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