pasted with dough, made a circle round him and condoled with him in chorus.
"Don't speak of it to me, comare Sidora," he exclaimed, shaking his head, and heaving up his great shoulders. "This is a thorn that will never be pulled out of my heart. That woman was a real saint! I did not deserve her, saving your presence. Only day before yesterday, when she was so sick, she got up to tend to the weaning colt, and she would not let me call in the doctor, or buy any medicine, either—so as to not waste any money. I sha'n't find another wife like her. No I sha'n't, I tell you. Let me weep—I've good reason to."
And he began to shake his head and to heave his shoulders as if his misfortune were a burden not to be borne.
"As to getting another wife," said la Licodiana, to encourage him, "all you've got to do is to look for one."
"No! no!" asseverated compare Meno, with his head hung low, like a mule's.
