His penetrating gaze did not invalidate the ironic smile that curved his thin lips, lips that had the silky threads of his black moustache to overshadow them. When he got angry his cheeks would redden and his lower lip would tremble down as far as his sunken chin. The office and paper store of his business consisted of three rooms that he rented from a Jewish furrier, and was separated from the Hebrew’s stinking storeroom by a corridor that was always filled with dirty red-headed kids.The first room was something along the lines of an office-cum-fine paper display room. Its windows let onto Rivadavia Street and the passers-by could see, neatly lined up in a pine display case, reams of salmon-coloured paper, green paper, blue and red paper, rolls of impermeable stiff marbled paper, blocks of silk paper and what was called ‘butter’ paper, cubes of labels with multi-coloured flowers on them, sheaves of rough-surfaced paper with flowers and a watermark in the form of a pale vase.
