"Let me alone. I tell you to let me alone. I know you don't love me. I'm
going away."
The painter was surprised and afraid of the nervousness in this beloved
little doll; he did not dare to touch her for fear of hurting her. As
soon as the sun rose she would leave that house forever. Her husband did
not love her. No one but her mother cared for her. He was making her a
laughing stock before people. And all these incoherent complaints that
did not explain the motive for her anger, continued for a long time
until the artist guessed the cause. Was it the model, the naked woman?
Yes, that was it; she would not consent to it, that in a studio that was
practically her house, low women should show themselves immodestly to
her husband's eyes. And as she protested against such abominations, her
twitching fingers tore the front of her night dress, showing the hidden
charms that filled Renovales with such enthusiasm.
The painter, tired out by this scene, enervated by the cries and tears
of his wife, could not help laughing when he discovered the motive of
her irritation.
"Ah! So it's all on account of the model. Be quiet, girl, no woman shall
come into the studio."
And he promised everything Josephina wished, in order to be over with it
as soon as possible. When it was dark once more, she was still sighing,
but now it was in her husband's strong arms with her head resting on his
breast, lisping like a grieved child that tries to justify the past fit
of temper.
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