The farewells were like a scene at the theatre.

I believe that even your brother and that simpleton his wife, who is now in glory, wept as though the lover were theirs.

The young people sat for hours with clasped hands, gazing into each other's eyes, as though they would devour each other.

He was the calmest; he promised to come every Sunday and to write every day, and at first he did so, but before long many weeks passed without his coming, and the postman came up less often to the Claverias, and at last did not come at all--it was ended, the young lieutenant found other amusements in Madrid.

Your poor niece was like one demented; the colour in her face faded, she was no longer like the beautiful ripe apricot, with the soft skin that made you long to bite it.