You don't know how to maintain your rank!" "He's the b-boss here!" "What do we care for that?
We are Indians, perhaps ?" "You're right," he assented, not caring to quarrel.

They passed in front of the officer's dwelling.

Dona Consolacion was at the window, as usual, dressed in flannel and smoking her cigar.

As the house was low, the two senoras measured one another with looks; Dona Victorina stared while the Muse of the Civil Guard examined her from head to foot, and then, sticking out her lower lip, turned her head away and spat on the ground.

This used up the last of Dona Victorina's patience.