His face darkened, and he directed his gaze to me once more. “How much do you want to know?” His voice was low, harsh, his eyes darting from me to the shadows surrounding the porch.
I inhaled deeply, then answered, “Everything.”
Augustin’s strong shoulders shuddered and he drew his arms around his body, as though he felt the cold despite his fire. He looked away from me again, his face slowly transforming into a mask of grief, and for a long while he kept silent. I stared at him while he fought his internal battle, intrigued all over again by this cruel man, this unfeeling man whose love for his mother had never subsided. At last, when I had begun to despair that he would actually open his hard heart to me, he began to speak, his voice deep and laden with sorrow. “It has been twenty-two
