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“Cuquis can read. She pores over a Bible the missionaries have given her. "Listen to this," she says. "'Let the rich man glory in his humiliation, because like flowering grass he will pass away. For the sun rises with a scorching wind and withers the grass. And its flower falls off. And the beauty of its appearance is destroyed. So too the rich man in his pursuits will fade away.'" Several of the women mutter, "Amen." "Good old Jesus Christ," Cuca says. "He'll kick the shit out of those rich bastards.” — Luis Alberto Urrea
Cuquis can read. She pores over a Bible the missionaries have given her.
"Listen to this," she says. "'Let the rich man glory in his humiliation, because like flowering grass he will pass away. For the sun rises with a scorching wind and withers the grass. And its flower falls off. And the beauty of its appearance is destroyed. So too the rich man in his pursuits will fade away.'"
Several of the women mutter, "Amen."
"Good old Jesus Christ," Cuca says. "He'll kick the shit out of those rich bastards.