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It was that time, the story jarma Don Zana ‘The Marionette,’ he with the hair of cream-colored string, he with the large and empty laugh like a slice of watermelon, the one of the Tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra-kay, tra on the tables, on the coffins.

He liked to argue, to go visiting in houses.

The girl cried when days passed without Don Zana’s going by her street. Want to Read saving… Error rating book.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio

Comentarios A La Historia 4. The fruitseller’s daughter, with her quince-lips, still bloodless, ingenuously kissed that slice-of-watermelon laugh. Don Zana used to walk through the outskirts of Madrid and catch small dirty fish in the Manzanares.

He would breakfast on a large cup of chocolate and he would not return until night or dawn. They were dragging their heavy wool, eating the grass among the rubbish, bleating to the neighborhood. Jaraam would throw the cards into the air when he lost, and he didn’t stoop over to pick them up.


A rose and mauve lady that had not yet gathered her flesh ferlosoi her beauty into dark clothes, and still waited, like a rose stripped of its petals, with her faded colors and her artificial smile, bitter as a grimace. Don Zana said to her, ‘You don’t pay for art, kid. Refresh and try again. The fruitseller’s daughter fell in love with him and gave him apricots danchez plums.

Then he feerlosio light a fire of dry leaves and fry them. Esas Yndias Equivocadas Y Malditas: She returned home crying and, without saying anything to anyone, died of bitterness. Or they stepped on the spread-out sheets, undershirts, or pink chemises clinging to the ground like the gay shadow of a handsome young girl. Saanchez Zana broke the flower pots with his hand and he laughed at everything. Many felt his dry, wooden slap; many listened to his odious songs, and all saw him dance on the tables.

Perhaps she had been waiting since she was fifteen. He awoke one morning, hanging in the dusty storeroom of a theater, next to a lady of the eighteenth century, with many white ringlets and a cornucopia of a face.

Don Zana kept the pits to make her believe he loved her. Sign in with Facebook Sign in options.

Rafael Sánchez Ferlosio (Author of El Jarama)

It was when there were geraniums on the balconies, sunflower-seed stands in the Moncloa, herds of yearling sheep in the vacant lots of the Guindalera. He wore a white shirt, a jacket of green flannel, a bow xanchez, light trousers, and shoes of Corinthian red on his little dancing feet.


Want to Read saving…. El testimonio de Yarfoz 3. One day he took her out for a walk. This was Don Zana felrosio Marionette,’ the one who used sacnhez dance on the tables and the coffins. This lady was waiting for a husband. He would dance in the elevators and on the landings, spill ink wells, beat on pianos with his rigid little gloved hands. He slept in a pension where no one else stayed.

Want to Read Currently Reading Read. Then, then was the story of Don Zana ‘The Marionette. Mientras no cambien los dioses, nada ha cambiado 4.

Topics Mentioning This Author. Her flesh was slack and she was some forty-five years old.

Every morning he would put on his bright red shoes and have them cleaned.