“Dios mio. He had been lost in the forest. Regard the mud: see also the thorn-marks and the bitings of bichos.”
“Always some are lost in the forest: they go blind, then they go mad. They will drink fire, thinking it water.”
“Remember that man of Matoche: he who had nothing but a book.”
“Also that other: the Americano: for whom some Americana must still mourn. He had her locket, the poor man.”
“And this is but a boy and a caballero.”
“Yes, and very gentle,” the girl said. “His manners are so modest.”
She turned to Hi, and spoke again in English. “You go San Marco?” she asked. “We take you to San Marco?”
“Is that near Anselmo?”
“Near where?”
“Anselmo.”