Chapter 26

Upstairs in Rosalba's front bedroom, Angela and the bridesmaids were finishing their toilette. They had all rushed to the window when the mayor's motorcar arrived, and then to the top of the stairs when Juanito overturned the spit, but now they were getting down to the serious business of making themselves beautiful. Angela, clad only in a thin silk shift, was brushing her hair with an intense ferocity, as if she were waging war against it.

"What are you doing?" demanded Little Dolores, standing in front of Angela with her arms folded. "It's still wet. You'll straighten it."

"I'm trying to straighten it," she said, with an air of intense frustration.

"You mustn't," said Little Dolores. "It is beautiful like that. It is like the ripples in the river."

Angela looked at her in frank amazement. "But that's beautiful, Little Dolores. Do you make poetry?"

"I?" said Little Dolores, with a disdainful expression. "I do not make poetry. I have better things to do."