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Yes, my friend, I've a heap of experience along that line." "I feel all right now, Compadre." Demetrio pretended he had not heard him. "I had fever, and I sweated like a horse all night, but I feel quite fresh today. The thing that's irking me hellishly is that Goddamn wound. Can Venancio to look after me." "What are we going to do with the tenderfoot we caught last night?" Pancracio asked.
In his imagination, he reviewed the features of last night's men. One, Pancracio, was pockmarked, blotchy, unshaven; his chin protruded, his forehead receded obliquely; his ears formed one solid piece with head and neck a horrible man.
The little blond captain with curled mustache turned pale as wax. He stood against the door to the staircase unable to muster enough strength to take another step. Pancracio pushed him brutally to the edge of the corridor. A jab with his knee against the captain's thigh then a sound not unlike a bag of stones falling from the top of the steeple on the porch of the church.
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