Look at my patched camisa; for instead of buying new ones I've spent the money in masses and presents to St.Sebastian, even though I don't have great confidence in his power, because the curate recites the masses fast and hurriedly, he's an entirely new saint and doesn't yet know how to perform miracles, and isn't made of _batikulin_ but of _lanete._ Ay, what will your father say to me when I die and see him again!" So the poor woman lamented and wept, while Placido became gloomier and let stifled sighs escape from his breast.
"What would I get out of being a lawyer ?" was his response.
"What will become of you ?" asked his mother, clasping her hands.

"They'll call you a filibuster and garrote you.

I've told you that you must have patience, that you must be humble.

I don't tell you that you must kiss the hands of the curates, for I know that you have a delicate sense of smell, like your father, who couldn't endure European cheese.

[41] But we have to suffer, to be silent, to say yes to everything.