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Updated: June 10, 2025
"You were not then with the real Moors," said I, "but only with the Spaniards who occupied part of their country." "I have been with the real Moors, my London Caloro. Who knows more of the real Moors than myself?
"I am he whom you seek," said I; "where is Antonio?" "Curelando, curelando, baribustres curelos terela," said the crone: "come with me, Caloro of my garlochin, come with me to my little ker, he will be there anon."
There are some who believe in nothing; not even that they live! Long since, I knew an old Caloro, he was old, very old, upwards of a hundred years, and I once heard him say, that all we thought we saw was a lie; that there was no world, no men nor women, no horses nor mules, no olive trees. But whither are we straying?
"Plenty of houses in this foros, plenty of houses in Merida, my London Caloro, some of them just as they were left by the Corahanoes; ah, a fine people are the Corahanoes; I often wish myself in their chim once more." "How is this, mother," said I, "have you been in the land of the Moors?"
I am a stranger in this land, O mother of the Gypsies, and scarcely know how to provide for myself, much less for a romi. Gypsy Mother. She wants no one to provide for her, my London Caloro, she can at any time provide for herself and her ro. She can hokkawar, tell baji, and there are few to equal her at stealing a pastesas. What, say you, my London Caloro, what say you to my plan? Myself.
"No tenga usted cuidao, my London Caloro," said the Gypsy mother, in an unearthly tone; "Pepindorio has been here some time." I was about to rise from my seat and attempt to escape from the house, when I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and in a moment I heard the voice of Antonio. "Be not afraid, 'tis I, brother; we will have a light anon, and then supper."
"Is your worship the London Caloro?" said a strange voice close beside me. I started and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat. Notwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were hideously ugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gypsy crone, at least seventy years of age, leaning upon a staff. "Is your worship the London Caloro?" repeated she.
In the land of the Corahai you must hokkawar and chore even as you must here, or in your own country, or else you are no Caloro. Can you not join yourselves with the black people who live in the despoblados? Yes, surely; and glad they would be to have among them the Errate from Spain and London.
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