for that forbidden and unfriendly dining-room, where but a moment ago the ice itself-with burned nuts in it-and the finger-bowls seemed to me to be concealing pleasures that were mischievous and of a mortal sadness because Mamma was tasting of them and I was far away, had opened its doors to me and, like a ripe fruit which bursts through its skin, was going to pour out into my intoxicated heart the gushing sweetness of Mamma's attention while she was reading what I had written.
zeren jangela galarazi eta etsai hura, non, une bat lehentxeago, izozkiak berak-granité-aketa aho-goxagarriek plazer kaltegarri eta mortalki goibelak ezkutatzen zituztela iruditzen baitzitzaidan, amak nigandik urrun dastatzen zituelako, ireki egiten baitzen niretzat eta, bere azala hausten duen fruitu zorituaren gisa, jalgiaraztera baitzihoan, eta nire bihotz hordituraino helaraztera, amaren arreta, nire lerro haiek irakurtzean.