The return of my uncle Jacinto. The uncle was a robust man, and he came back scrawny.
Where he showed off his mustaches, two sad guides fell. His rosy cheeks looked wasted, his white complexion transformed into sallow. His sparkling light blue eyes were just two dark slits. And most impressively, his perky curls had transformed into a long, oily braid. We were stunned. Who knows how many troubles had transformed the uncle into little more than a wreck.