V
The following summer I found her again. In August, I was alone in my house, a house that a feminine presence had filled for years. One afternoon, bored to death, I visited the Government Tobacco Manufactory of Seville. It was a sweltering day. I entered alone, which was a favour, in this immense harem of about five thousand women-workers, of a rather free-and-easy type.
I have said the day was terribly hot? Most of the workers were half-dressed only. It was a mixed spectacle, certainly: a sort of panorama of women at all ages. I passed along, sometimes being asked for a gift, sometimes being given a cynical pleasantry. Suddenly I recognized Concha, and asked her what brought her into that place.
“Heaven knows, I have forgotten.”
“But your convent training?”
“When girls go there thro
