"It's plain that you're a faithful wife, the sons are so like the father.

Take care that the younger doesn't surpass him." Sisa broke out into bitter weeping and let herself fall upon a bench.
"Don't cry here!" yelled the cook.

"Don't you know that the padre's sick?
Get out in the street and cry!" The unfortunate mother was almost shoved down the stairway at the very time when the Sisters were coming down, complaining and making conjectures about the curate's illness, so she hid her face in her panuelo and suppressed the sounds of her grief.

Upon reaching the street she looked about uncertainly for a moment and then, as if having reached a decision, walked rapidly away..