...
“And why are you going to Comala..., if I might ask?” I heard the man say.
“I am going to see my father,” I told him.
“Ah!” he said
...
...
“And why are you going to Comala..., if I might ask?” I heard the man say.
“I am going to see my father,” I told him.
“Ah!” he said
...
“What are you listening to, Dona Eduviges?”
She shook her head, as if she had awakened from a dream.
“It’s the horse of Miguel Paramo that is galloping out there on the road from Media Luna.”
“Then someone is still living in Media Luna?”
“No, nobody lives there now.”
I hereby claim:
To claim this, I am signing this object: