I read Castle The thing touched to me as soon as the back undresses and surely followed to catch on of the wall of a color cream. During a second I felt like wretch abruptly, without still verifying what he was. Perhaps a cockroach or, in the best one of the cases, a bumblebee: he was something weighs and, according to my more precarious hope, turned out to be that, an innocent butterfly. One was nervous, vivamente wild. I assumed that it was this one his character, and that nothing had to do I with its agitation. Immediately I straightened my attitude. My abrupt fright was without a doubt the cause of its disagreement. My book was relaxing to my attention again.

A French phrase. The noun was desconcido: c" est Bon boulot. I looked for in my dictionary. Curro, translated. What was curro? The Drae (twentieth edition) provided two meanings. In Galicia it is a species of enclosure for bullfighting, that thus we called here the place where to lock up the donkeys, and, by extension, other beasts; the Gallegos lock up horses to shoe in curro. I found this meaning in my context unsuitable. In the same article, he is applied to the place in which one connects to the beasts with that intention to shoe them.

In the following one, curro, to, the definition seemed to correspond with the sense that in the context of my book would have boulot. Thus, I continued the reading. Soon I reconsidered the subject and finally I remained with the Galician meaning. The butterfly had not left to me at any moment of the head, well had omitted that it. At this point already it had solved that something had come to look for room. It had entered by the window surely in light search. Fire no, but protection.