When they reached the house, the sky was already beginning to lose its blood-red colour; a veil of pale yellow opal invaded the whole celestial vault; toward the west it was green, to the east, it was blue, an intense blue, with great, purple bands....
CHAPTER XXII
STICKS, SHOTS, AND STONES
THAT night, Quentin went to look for Cornejo at the print-shop where La Víbora was published.
The shop was situated in a cellar, and contained a very antique press, which took a whole day to print its fifteen hundred copies.
“For the next number,” said Quentin to the poet, “you’ve got to make up a poisonous poem in the same style as those that have been published against the Alguacil Ventosilla, Padre Tumbón, and La Garduña.”
“Good. Against whom is it to be?”
“La Aceitunera.”
“The Countess?”
“Yes.”
“The devil! Isn’t she a relative of yours?”