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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer
Capítulo 3, Página 3
“Well,
Sid
doesn’t
torment
people
the
way
you
do.
You’d
be
into
that
sugar
all
the
time
if
I
wasn’t
watching
you.”
Soon
she
went
into
the
kitchen,
and
Sid,
pleased
with
his
immunity,
reached
for
the
sugar
bowl—a
kind
of
triumph
over
Tom
that
was
almost
unbearable.
But
Sid’s
fingers
slipped,
and
the
bowl
fell
and
broke.
Tom
was
ecstatic.
So
ecstatic
that
he
even
managed
to
keep
quiet.
He
decided
he
wouldn’t
say
a
word,
even
when
his
aunt
came
in,
but
would
sit
still
until
she
asked
who
did
the
damage;
and
then
he
would
tell,
and
nothing
would
be
as
satisfying
as
seeing
that
favorite
“catch
it.”
He
was
so
full
of
excitement
that
he
could
hardly
contain
himself
when
the
old
lady
returned
and
stood
over
the
mess,
her
eyes
flashing
with
anger
over
her
spectacles.
He
thought,
“Now
it’s
coming!”
And
the
next
moment
he
was
sprawled
on
the
floor!
The
powerful
palm
was
raised
to
strike
again
when
Tom
shouted:
“Hold
on,
now,
why
are
you
hitting
me?—Sid
broke
it!”
Aunt
Polly
paused,
confused,
and
Tom
looked
for
sympathy.
But
when
she
found
her
voice,
she
only
said:
“Umf!
Well,
you
didn’t
get
a
beating
for
nothing,
I
guess.
You’ve
been
up
to
some
other
mischief
when
I
wasn’t
around,
likely
enough.”
Her
conscience
bothered
her,
and
she
longed
to
say
something
kind
and
loving.
However,
she
feared
it
would
be
seen
as
admitting
she
was
wrong,
and
discipline
didn't
allow
that.
So,
she
stayed
silent,
going
about
her
tasks
with
a
heavy
heart.
Tom
sulked
in
a
corner,
feeling
sorry
for
himself.
He
knew
his
aunt
secretly
wished
to
make
amends
with
him,
and
he
felt
a
grim
satisfaction
about
it.
He
showed
no
signs
of
reconciliation
and
ignored
any
attempts.
He
noticed
her
sad
glances
filled
with
tears
but
chose
not
to
acknowledge
them.
He
imagined
himself
gravely
ill,
with
his
aunt
pleading
for
forgiveness,
but
he
would
turn
away
and
die
without
forgiving
her.
How
would
she
feel
then?
He
pictured
himself
dead,
brought
back
from
the
river,
his
curls
wet,
his
troubles
over.
She
would
throw
herself
on
him,
crying
and
praying
for
his
return,
promising
never
to
scold
him
again.
But
he
would
lie
there
cold
and
unresponsive,
a
little
sufferer
whose
pain
had
ended.
He
indulged
in
these
sad
fantasies
so
much
that
he
felt
like
choking
and
tears
filled
his
eyes.
He
enjoyed
this
self-pity
so
much
that
he
couldn't
stand
any
cheerfulness
disrupting
it.
So,
when
his
cousin
Mary
entered,
full
of
joy
after
a
week
in
the
country,
he
left
in
a
cloud
of
gloom
as
she
brought
happiness
into
the
room.
He
wandered
away
from
the
usual
places
boys
gathered,
seeking
lonely
spots
that
matched
his
mood.
A
log
raft
on
the
river
caught
his
attention,
and
he
sat
on
its
edge,
staring
at
the
vast,
dreary
water,
wishing
he
could
drown
without
the
usual
discomforts.
Then,
he
remembered
his
flower.
He
took
it
out,
crumpled
and
wilted,
and
it
added
to
his
gloomy
happiness.
He
wondered
if
she
would
feel
sorry
for
him
if
she
knew.
Would
she
cry
and
wish
she
could
comfort
him?
Or
would
she
turn
away
like
everyone
else?
This
thought
brought
him
a
mix
of
pain
and
pleasure,
and
he
imagined
it
repeatedly
until
it
lost
its
impact.
Finally,
he
sighed
and
left
in
the
darkness.
Around
half-past
nine
or
ten,
he
reached
the
quiet
street
where
the
girl
he
admired
lived.
He
paused,
listening,
but
heard
nothing.
A
candle
cast
a
faint
glow
on
a
second-story
curtain.
Was
she
there?
He
climbed
the
fence
and
quietly
moved
through
the
plants
until
he
stood
under
the
window.
He
looked
up
with
emotion,
then
lay
down
beneath
it,
hands
clasped
on
his
chest,
holding
his
poor
flower.
He
imagined
dying
there,
alone
in
the
cold,
with
no
one
to
comfort
him
or
wipe
his
brow.
Would
she
shed
a
tear
when
she
saw
him
in
the
morning,
lifeless
and
so
young?
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Las aventuras de Tom Sawyer — B2 Inglés | Cuentana