|The Arlanzón River in Burgos in 2005.|
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“My sons are outside with my husband, waiting to meet you!” doña Sancha beamed.
Justa, Gotina, and all the other servants followed Sancha and the count outside to find a concentration of masculinity so intense, Justa felt it wash over her like the waves of the Cantabrian Sea. Nine men, each with at least one sword tied to his belt, and seven with raven-black hair shining in the sunlight, laughed and talked amongst themselves, producing a resonant rumble in the women’s ears.
Count García said playfully, “Hey, Gonzalico, come and meet your future relative, and bring those sons of yours. Ah, there they are! I would never have known, since they’re so quiet.”
Justa looked at doña Sancha and tried to imagine all those well-formed men coming out of her somehow.
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