You mock me still, wretch!
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— Ainda escarneces, infame!— bradou a moça,
'You are mocking me still, wretch!' cried the young woman,
Her control finally breaks — the formal 'senhor' gives way to 'infame,' wretch, hurled with the intimate 'escarneces.' Insult strips away ceremony: in fury she speaks to him plainly at last.
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A Escrava Isaura 6.16 — The Great Library Project interlinear edition · greatlibraryproject.com/book/escravaisaura/6.16/