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134 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1938
Sadness overtook him. What a mistake to think of himself as rooted in another man’s land! His fate was to roam aimlessly up and down the world, like the Wandering Jew. He was a vagrant, driven by drought. He was only a temporary lodger there, one who had lingered on, who had taken a liking to the house, the corral, the goat pen, and the jujube that had given them shelter for a night.
She sat down by the low kitchen window, discontent. She would sell the chickens and the sow and she would stop buying kerosene. It was no use consulting Fabiano, who was always enthusiastically making plans which he then quickly abandoned. She wrinkled her brow, startled with her idea, but sure that her husband would be pleased with owning a bed. Vitória wanted a real bed, of leather and sucupira wood…
