Explore "The Swan of Vilamorta" by Emilia Pardo Bazán on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was something different from poetry that formed the theme of conversation of the head of the house of Las Vides, the Gendays, and the arch-priest, installed on the balcony under the pretext of enjoying the moonlight, but in reality to discuss the important question of the vintage.
A fine crop! Yes, indeed, a fine crop! The grape had not a trace of oïdium; it was clean, full, and so ripe that it was as sticky to the touch as if it had been dipped in honey. There was not a doubt but that the new wine of this year was better than the old wine of last year. Last year's vintage was an absolute failure! Hail to-day, rain to-morrow! The grape with so much rain had burst before it was time to gather it, and had not an atom of pulp; the result was a wine that scarcely left a stain on the shirt-sleeves of the muleteers.