Her tears were mingled with the beverage that was slipping between her lips.
A comfortable warmth began making itself felt in her stomach, drying up the moisture in her eyes and giving new color to her cheeks.

Caragol was keeping up his chat, satisfied with the outcome of his handiwork, making signs to the glowering Toni,--who was passing and repassing before the door, with the vehement desire of seeing the intruder march away, and disappear forever.
"Don't cry any more, my daughter....

_Cristo del Grao!_ The very idea! A lady as pretty as you, who can find sweethearts by the dozen, crying!...

Believe me; find somebody else.

This world is just full of men with nothing to do....