Roberto lost his head. He kissed her frantically. Esther encircled his neck with her arms; a deep sigh of desperation and desire sent tremors rippling from her head to her feet.
“Shall we go?”
“Let’s go.”
They left the house.
A few hours later, Bernardo Santín, with his wife’s note in his fingers, was muttering:
“And my poor father? What’s going to become of my poor father now?”
CHAPTER V
General Strike—Gay Times—The Dance at the Frontón—Initiation Into Love