the last book I ever read (Cousin Bazilio by Jose Maria Eça de Queiroz, excerpt four)

from Cousin Bazilio by Jose Maria Eça de Queiroz (Translated by Margaret Jull Costa):

Ernestinho entered the room‚ taking short‚ rapid steps‚ and flung his arms around Jorge.

‘I heard that you were leaving‚ cousin Jorge. How are you‚ cousin Luiza?’

He was Jorge’s cousin. A slight‚ listless figure‚ whose slender limbs‚ still barely formed‚ gave him the fragile appearance of a schoolboy; his sparse moustache‚ thick with wax‚ stood up at either end with points sharp as needles; and in his gaunt face‚ beneath fleshy lids‚ his eyes looked dull and lethargic. He was wearing patent leather shoes with large bows on them; and dangling from his watch chain over his white waistcoat was a huge gold medallion bearing a bas relief of enamelled fruits and flowers. He lived with an actress from the Ginásio–a scrawny‚ sallow-skinned woman with very curly hair and a tubercular look about her–and he wrote for the theatre. He had done translations‚ written two original one-act plays and a comedy full of puns. Lately he had been rehearsing a longer work at the Teatro das Variedades‚ a drama in five acts‚ entitled Honour and Passion. It was his first serious play. With his pockets stuffed with manuscripts‚ he was now constantly having to deal with journalists and actors‚ buying coffees and cognacs for everyone‚ his hat awry‚ his face pale‚ telling all and sundry: ‘This life will be the death of me!’ He wrote out of a deep love of Art‚ for he was an employee in the Customs Office‚ with a good salary and five hundred mil réis in government bonds. It was Art‚ he said‚ that was obliging him to spend money: for the ball scene in Honour and Passion‚ he had‚ at his own expense‚ ordered patent leather boots for the leading man and for the actor playing the father. His family name was Ledesma.