THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUIS REY
“Her? You still thinking about her? I wouldn’t have her here for anything. No.”
But Esteban was not content yet. He dragged up a few more phrases from the very centre of his being:
“Manuel, you still feel, don’t you, that I came between you and the Perichole and you don’t remember that I told you it was all right with me. I swear to you I’d have been glad if you’d gone away with her, or anything.”
“What are you bringing that up for, Esteban? I tell you, in God’s own name, I never think of that. She’s nothing to me. When are you going to forget that, Esteban? I tell you I’m glad things are as they are. Look, I got to get angry when you keep going back to that.”
“Manuel, I wouldn’t speak of it again, only when you get angry at me about the cloths . . . you, you get angry at me about that, too. And you talk about it and you . . .”
120
