Hunters in Wisconsin, the United States, killed 216 gray wolves during the wolf hunting season this year, far exceeding the quota of 119 set by the authorities, triggering strong protests from animal protection organizations.
The British “Guardian” reported on the 3rd that these 216 wolves were all hunted in less than 60 hours, resulting in the state’s Department of Natural Resources having to end the week-long wolf hunting season 4 days in advance. It is reported that officials from the Department of Natural Resources of the state issued 1,547 hunting permits during the wolf hunting season, which is equivalent to 13 people hunting a gray wolf, which is twice the number of permits in previous years. Nicholson, the head of the Wisconsin Chapter of the Humane Society of the United States, criticized the Wisconsin state government’s management as “short-sighted and deadly.”
It is reported that in the 1950s, gray wolves were almost extinct due to unregulated hunting. The US federal government issued a series of policies to protect them. But Wisconsin government officials soon opened three hunting seasons, resulting in the killing of a large number of gray wolves. In December 2014, a federal judge decided in response to a lawsuit by wildlife conservationists that gray wolves must be relisted on the endangered species list. In October last year, the Trump administration removed gray wolves from the list of endangered species.
Conchita entered the room and, plunging into the darkness, with great ease and skill went straight to open the shutters. Through the curtains of thin white linen, smooth and almost conventual, the light flowed, cold, neat. The room was large and rectangular, of a crisp, matte whiteness, which at the dimmer angles faded into bluish and ivory veils. It would have been believed a dwelling kneaded with cloud substance if it had not been for the carved, perpendicular style of the white lacquered furniture. The doors were lined with a grid of subtle slats, enclosing beveled mirrors. The carpet was thick and springy. There was little furniture, and these were weightless, without domesticity. Only three paintings hung on the walls, one etching and two sepia engravings, with a lot of margin,
The only color notes were given by a low armchair, with a sinuous back and with ear flaps on both sides of the back, upholstered in pearl gray corduroy, and two beds, one double and the other for children, both made of gilt iron and a very simple design; at the head, two little red heads, and at the feet, old gold silk quilts.
Against that immaculate background, Conchita’s small and agile body, dressed in black, stood out like a mouse dropped in a bowl of milk.
The two heads, lit by sleep and immersed in a mass of honey hair, lay prop. 2. 3fundamentally, oblivious to the advent of Conchita and the light.
The maid approached the young lady’s bed and shook her gently.
-What time is it? Rosina asked, her voice somewhat hoarse.
“Half past ten, about a little more or less.”
“Why are you waking me up so early?”
“Mr. Pajares is already in the cabinet, waiting for you.”
-It’s true. I no longer remembered.
She pulled her bare arms out from under the covers and lifted them into the air, stretching. They were well distributed in their flesh, plump perhaps, ductile, feminine because they appeared to lack joint and muscles, as if undulating, and had, as well as the neck and shoulders, a soft flowering of hair between blond and snowy, through which they he brought the light in such a way that it traced a double profile around the limbs, as if they were clothed in light.
“Don’t let the girl wake up,” Rosina hissed, sitting up and causing a warm, semi-human and semi-plant fragrance to emanate from the interior of the bed.
The warm smell reached Conchita, suggesting ideas of voluptuousness. He said to himself: “No wonder men, when they come across a cunt like this one, give themselves up until they hit the jackpot.”
“Where is Celipe?” Asked a clear childish voice.
Rosina and Conchita turned to look at Rosa Fernanda’s bed. The girl had gotten to her knees on the bed and sat on her heels, hidden between the strands of her long nightgown.
-Treasure! Glory! Picarona! Who wants her? Come here, let him eat you some of that pink carina, that mommy is very hungry. Come come.
And Rosina held out her arms to her daughter, just asp. 24 He murmured more and more tenderness and loving nonsense.
Rosa Fernanda, desperately rubbing her eyes with her fists, repeated:
“Where is Celipe?”
“Ah, wicked!” You love Celipe more than your mommy. Now I’m going to cry.
And he began to pretend sorrowful crying.
Rosa Fernanda frowned and pouted, on the suspicion of a llantina. Then the mother burst out laughing, and the girl, showing with evident signs that she had not been amused by the mockery, repeated indignantly:
“Where is Celipe?”
I heard a cautious noise at the door, as of someone scratching it.
“There you have Celipe, mischievous, more than mischievous!” Rosina grumbled, feigning angry.
Rosa Fernanda jumped from the bed to the ground, to the point that the one called Celipe forced entry, and they ran to meet each other. But Rosa Fernanda, whose nightgown was two feet longer than her tiny person, got tangled up and hit the ground, exposed her pink little legs and bare feet, with amber sole and heel. Then Celipe, who was a lap dog so hairy that it looked like a ball of uncarded wool, came to the girl, began to bounce around her, to growl, with a ridiculous and friendly accent, and to run into her big head covered with bushy bristles. ashen, shapeless and without any organic appearance, except for two brutal, hard, jet-black eyes. The girl burst out laughing; the mother was contagious with laughter, and, in the end, Conchita too, so that between the three, with her joyous concert,
“Mademoiselle,” the maid dared to suggest, “that poor Senor de Pajares is waiting.”
p. 25-Yes you’re right; give me the kimono here.
Rosina put on the kimono that Conchita was presenting her; a loose robe of crimson silk, embroidered with mauve green dragons, violet wisteria, and silver ruffled waders. The kimono was padded inside, and so Rosina liked to wrap herself in it and feel that warm and cuddly lightness embrace her body.
Rosina took Rosa Fernanda in the air and kissed her with passionate effusion, without taking care of the protests and kicking of the girl, nor of the barking of the Celipe report, which had elongated like a quarter, vertically, in space , demonstrating with this and the uncertainty of the balance that had been placed in two feet. The mother put the little girl back on the carpet, and leaving her at her pleasure in the friend of the jocular Celipe, went to the bathroom, followed by the maid.
In the bathroom he sat and waited for the sink to fill up. While Conchita drew the water with the thermometer, preventing the right temperature, Rosina remained with her eyes lost in the hot steam that rose from the bathroom. As Conchita spied her mistress’s distraction from the side, in order to entertain her she told her about the incident that had occurred between Teófilo and Sená Donisia.
“But what a beast that woman is!” Rosina commented nervously. And did he not say a suitable phrase to you?
-Harpy; It was the only thing I ever heard from him.
—Quite you, miss, if I had the fattest blood …
Rosina and her maid maintained a familiar plainness with each other, although Conchita, no matter how curious her curiosity was, refrained from asking: sooner or later, Rosina would tell her everything.
“How are you dressed today?”
p. 26-How? Come on, then, as a Russian prince. You already know the mise en scene : pants with saddles and fringes, American shoes, which is the fashion (I mean, shoes that come from the Americas of the Rastro), and the jacket that can happen … that can go to the car of the trash. Well, you haven’t seen him in socks.
-Of course not. Have you seen him?
“Naturally I’ve seen him.” But haven’t I told you that Sená Donisia had pulled out a boot for you?
“What a beast of a woman!”
“Well, nothing, you had to see the sock nonsense.”
“Well, enough Conchita.” It seems you haven’t heard that I don’t like hearing bad news about Pajares.
“If I feel sorry for him.”
“Too bad about what?” From their poverty? That honors him. Know that he is a man of great talent; that he could earn whatever he wanted by writing in the newspapers; but since his noble and rebellious character does not allow him to bow down to anyone … that’s all. Besides, they are envious …
Rosina expressed her opinions with great vehemence; opinions that he had contracted directly from Theophilus himself.
—I don’t doubt it, because look at you that in the world there are envious men and women … The bathroom is ready.
Rosina plunged her naked body into the warm, smelly water. It was one of those golden beauties of humid climates, products of juicy maturity, which affect, with a ligation of delightful fruition, both the eyes and the palate of the beholder, nebulously suggesting a sensation of trellised peaches, already seasoned, and mouth water. Because of the silky hair, Rosina’s skin, like that of fresh fruits, within the liquid seemed to bep. 27covered with crystalline silver powder. The woman bounced gently and narrowed her eyes. I was thoughtful.
“Hey, Concha, don’t you think Pajares can’t be called ugly?”
—It’s not a bibeló; but you can’t say it’s ugly.
“He has an I don’t know what distinguished character like that, don’t you think?” Something in the air. A thing of pride, sometimes contempt, which is fine. Okay; you don’t stop to look at those things. If you dress me like the children of the Peña, I put it to the case …
—Look at you, miss; For me, the habit does not make the monk. I put on the lady’s dresses, and I’m still La Concha.
—I’m not happy with you; You had to see me when I was just a poor village rapazuca, a sardinera, the daughter of a fisherman. There must be no where to catch me.
“Yeah, yeah; I would leave you, when you were naked, as now, and you would go into the water, as now, I say that if you would cease to be, as you are now: a jewel, that all of you look like silver, gold and diamonds.
Rosina smiled at her maid’s flattery.
“Well, I say more, and this for Mr. Pajares,” Conchita continued. And I say that I do not know why I think that everyone that you found him, as soon as he dressed as a litri child, there was nothing left but that not even this.
“That is, according to you, the habit makes the monk.” Well, I tell you that Teófilo has a great figure.
Rosina was coming out of the bathroom. Conchita wrapped her in the sheet, and said to herself: “She’s here for the poet.”
They returned to the bedroom. Rosa Fernanda and Celipe had left. While the girl combed her hair,p. 28 He groomed his hands and dressed Rosina. They did not exchange a word again.