Dom Casmurro 12.68 · 12.68

A short, almost bashful clause: he told his poor dreams as well. Having just confessed how meager they were, Bento admits he still recounted them to Capitú, laying his repetitions of the day beside her flights. There is something touching in the equality of the exchange despite the inequality of the material — both of them shared, whatever they had.

Machado keeps the reciprocity real. The courtship is a genuine two-way telling; Bento is not merely a listener but also a confider, however modest his offerings. That mutual disclosure is the texture of intimacy the chapter has been mapping — the pleasure of handing over one's nights to another. The next passage will show Capitú, ever the discerner, noticing and ranking the two kinds of dream. For the moment, though, the note is simple companionship: two young people trading the contents of their sleep across a verandah, holding nothing back.

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