“Oh, yes, you mean Dorotília.” “Yes, ma’am. Dorotília is even poorer than me.”
“And the other girls don’t like to play with her because she’s black and poor.”
So she always stays in a corner. I share the pastry that you give me with her.
This time she stood there with the handkerchief pressed to her nose for a long time.
Every now and then, instead of giving it to me, you could give it to her.”
Her mum is a washerwoman and she has eleven children. All still young.
Gran gives them some rice and beans every Saturday to help them out.
And I share my pastry with her because Mother taught us that we should share the little we have with those who have even less.
Tears were rolling down her face now.I didn’t mean to make you cry.
I promise not to steal flowers any more and I’m going to study even harder.
It’s not that, Zezé. Come here.She took my hands in hers.
I want you to promise me something, because you have a beautiful heart, Zezé.
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