"It is a great thing for me," he repeated again, as if to himself.
"It is," agreed the magnificent Capataz de Cargadores, calmly.

"Listen, Vecchio--go in and bring me, out a cigar, but don't look for it in my room.

There's nothing there." Viola stepped into the cafe and came out directly, still absorbed in his idea, and tendered him a cigar, mumbling thoughtfully in his moustache, "Children growing up--and girls, too! Girls!" He sighed and fell silent.
"What, only one ?" remarked Nostromo, looking down with a sort of comic inquisitiveness at the unconscious old man.

"No matter," he added, with lofty negligence; "one is enough till another is wanted." He lit it and let the match drop from his passive fingers.

Giorgio Viola looked up, and said abruptly-- "My son would have been just such a fine young man as you, Gian' Battista, if he had lived." "What?
Your son?
But you are right, padrone.