We have a guest here." Dona Pepa was the housekeeper, the great man's companion who for the past fifteen years had been chained to the chariot of his glory.

The portieres would part and through them would advance a huge bosom protruding above an abdomen cruelly corseted.

Afterwards, long afterwards, would appear a white and radiant countenance, a face like a full moon, and while her smile like a night star was greeting the little Ulysses, the dorsal complement of her body kept on coming in--forty carnal years, fresh, exuberant, tremendous.
The notary and his wife always spoke of Dona Pepa as of a familiar person, but the child never had seen her in their home.

Dona Cristina used to eulogize her care of the poet--but distantly and with no desire to make her acquaintance--while Don Esteban would make excuses for the great man.
"What can you expect!...

He is an artist, and artists are not able to live as God commands.