Dom Casmurro

by Machado de Assis

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CXV - View Forum Posts

We are going to the embargoes now ... And why do we go to the foreclosures? God knows what it costs to write them, the more you tell them. From the new circumstance that Escobar brought me, I only say what I told him then, that is, that it was not worth anything.



"Then it's worth something."

"To reinforce the reasons we already have is worth less than the tea you are going to take with me."

"It's late for tea."

- We'll have it soon.

We took it quickly. During him, Escobar was looking at me suspiciously, as if he were careful that I refused the new circumstance for covering me to write it; but such suspicion did not go with our friendship.

When he left, I mentioned my doubts to Capitú; she dislodged them with the fine art she possessed, a shade, a grace all her own, capable of dispelling the same sorrows of Olympio.

"It would be the business of two embargoes," he concluded; and he who has come so far, at this hour, is impressed by the demand.

-You're right.

Word pulls the word, I spoke of other doubts. I was then a well of them; they crouched inside me, like real rans, to the point that they took the somno sometimes. I told him that I was beginning to find my mother a little cold, and I was in no hurry with her. For here it was worth the fine art of Capitú!

Ja told you what it is; mother-in-law. Mamãeinha is jealous of you; As soon as they pass by and miss them augmentem, she becomes what she was again. In missing his grandson ...

"But I have noticed that it is already cold with Ezekiel. When he goes with me, Mother does not thank him.

"Who knows if he's not sick?"

"Are we going to have dinner with her tomorrow?"

Let's go ... No ... Let's go.

We went to dinner with my old lady. He could already call it that, since his white hair was neither all nor wholly, and his face comparatively cool; it was a kind of quinquagenarian youth or of the lush old age, the choice ... But no melancholy; he does not want to talk about wet eyes, in and out. Little entered the conversation. She was not unlike the usual. Jose Dias spoke of marriage and its beauties, of politics, of Europe and of homeopathia, Uncle Cosimo of his discomfort, cousin Justina of the neighborhood, or of Jose Dias, as he left the room.

When we came back at night, we came by on foot, talking about my doubts. Capitú again advised me to wait. Sogras were all like this; there came a day and they changed. As she spoke to me, she grew more tender. Dalli in deante was more and more sweet to me; I was not going to wait for the window, so as not to be jealous, but when I went upstairs I could see the delightful face of my friend and wife, laughing like all of our childhood, at the top of the stairs, between the bars of the cancella. Ezequiel was sometimes with her; we had accustomed him to the sight of the arrival and the exit, and he would fill my face with kisses.


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