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The young folks of the town were out in costume; for the procession of the Encuentro, in the environs of Valencia, is virtually a masquerade.
BRUNO. Allí le tiene usted hecho una estatua. DOÑA MATILDE. No nos ha sentido ... y en efecto, le encuentro muy desmejorado ... retírate un poco ... no, no tan lejos. BRUNO. ¿Si se habrá dormido? DON EDUARDO. ¡Ay! DOÑA MATILDE. ¿Suspira? BRUNO. Ya lo creo ... y de mi alma. DOÑA MATILDE. He consentido, Sr. DON EDUARDO. ¿Quién?... ¡Ah!
The devout procession, like the parade that heralds the coming of a circus to town, seemed to recall to the sinful, backsliding population of the Cabañal that at seven A. M. sharp Jesus and his mother would meet hence the name Encuentro in the middle of the Calle de San Antonio, in front of the "Side of Bacon," the tavern of tio Chulla.
And now all the collas were off toward the church, their bands and banners in front of them, looking, from a distance, like troops of glossy insects moving up and down in the rhythm of the march. The Encuentro was at hand! Two processions were coming-down different streets.
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