Summer 1943 • Vol. V No. 3 Fiction |

A Tomb for the Corpse

The sudden loss of his wealth drained every virtue from Lucho Vallejo, and let the poison in his memory course freely through his veins and sink into his very marrow. Inevitably, as the years went by, the cells of his body slowly renewed themselves, clothing him in a fresh garment fashioned by Nature. Within this new frame, however, arose the spectre of his past as a great landowner. This corpse (which it was) had a bad smell like something decayed, and its presence could be discerned in things so far apart as his bad humor, his arrogant speech, his pallid hue, his worn clothes shiny with grease, his borrowing, his old shoes with their holes, and his hunger. When irreparable tragedy befalls people, they generally hope to bring it to an end with a shot. Lucho Vallejo did not want to end his in this way, he thought it better to make a beginning. If anyone had ever before told him that poverty too can produce good things, that it nourishes the intuition and spurs one on for the stru

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Her Own Affair

By Walter Elder

The sudden loss of his wealth drained every virtue from Lucho Vallejo, and let the poison in his memory course freely through his veins and sink into his very marrow. […]

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