five months of solitude, or something like that

ursula wondered if it was not preferable to lie down once and for all in her grave and let them throw earth over her, and she asked God, without fear, if he really believed that people were made of iron in order to bear so many troubles and mortifications; and asking over and over she was stirring her own confusion and she felt irrepressible desires to let herself go and scamper about like a foreigner and allow herself at last an instant of rebellion, that instant yearned for so many times and so many times postponed, putting her resignation aside and shitting on everything once and for all and drawing out of her heart the infinite stacks of bad words that she had been forced to swallow over a century of conformity
"shit!" she shouted.
amaranta, who was starting to put the clothes into the trunk, thought she had been bitten by a scorpion.
"where is it?" she asked in alarm.
"what?"
"the bug!" amaranta said.
ursula put a finger on her heart
"here," she said.