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But that's all right: we've got plenty of time to do anything we damn well please so long as you're in no hurry, that's all," said Pancracio, loading his gun. "What kind of beasts are you?" the prisoner cried. He could say no more: Anastasio's fist, crashing down upon his face, sent his head turning on his neck, covered with blood. "Shoot the half-breed!" "Hang him!"
Whenever anything was said about shooting someone, Valderrama, the romantic poet, would disappear for a whole day. Hearing Anastasio's voice, Valderrama was convinced that the prisoners had been set at liberty. A few moments later, he was joined by Venancio and Demetrio. "Heard the news?" Venancio asked gravely. "No." "It's very serious. A terrible mess!
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