"I must speak to you tomorrow, without fail; choose the login and tell me.
I think José Dias thought this was my talk. The tone would not be as imperative as I feared, but the words were, and not questioning, not asking, not hesitating, as it was proper to my usual style and growth, it certainly gave you the idea of a new person and a new situation. It was in the hall when we went to tea; Jose Dias had been walking full of Walter Scott's reading of my mother and cousin Justina. Lia sung and paced. The castellos and parks grew larger than the lagoon, the lakes had more water, and the "celestial dome" counted a few thousand more sparkling stars. In the dialogues he alternated the sound of the voices, which were slightly thick or thin, according to the sex of the interlocutors, and reproduced in moderation the tenderness and the cholera.
When he said goodbye to me on the porch, he said to me:
"Tomorrow, on the street. I have some shopping to do, you can go with me, I'll ask Mom. Is it licensing day?
-The license was today.
-Perfectly. I do not ask you what it is; I affirm right now that it is serious and pure matter.
-Yes sir.
-See you tomorrow.
You have done all the best you can. There was only one change: my mother found the day warm and would not let me walk; We got in the bus, at the door of the house. "It does not matter," said Jose Dias; we can leave the door of the Promenade.
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