He had been the object of her conversations with Dona Cristina when they spent monotonous hours together weaving lace, as was the village custom.

Passing her room, Ulysses noticed there some of his own portraits at the time when he was a simple apprentice aboard a transatlantic liner.

Cinta had doubtless taken them from her aunt's room, for she had been admiring this adventurous cousin long before knowing him.

One evening the sailor told the two women how he had been rescued on the coast of Portugal.

The mother listened with averted glance, and with trembling hands moving the bobbins of her lace.
Suddenly there was an outcry.