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Updated: June 9, 2025
Will you fight, Griscelli?" "Certainly provided that we fight at once, and to the death. You can arrange the details with my friends here." "Be it so." I said, "A la muerte." "To the death! To the death!" shouted the crowd, whose native ferocity was now thoroughly roused.
The two men lifted the cripple in, amid the outcries and lamentations of the aged woman, who had looked at his face and then covered her own. At once they were surrounded by a swarm of women and children, who pressed upon them, hampering their movements, until a shrill voice cried: "La muerte negra!" The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the moaning woman to help.
For time is the measure of business, as money is of wares; and business is bought at a dear hand, where there is small dispatch. The Spartans and Spaniards have been noted to be of small dispatch; Mi venga la muerte de Spagna; Let my death come from Spain; for then it will be sure to be long in coming.
After a short conference and a reference to Griscelli and myself, the seconds announced that we were to fight with swords in Señor de Medina's garden, whither we straightway wended, for there were no police to meddle with us, and at that time duels a la muerte were of daily occurrence in the city of Caracas.
In English, Paul continued: "General, I am a patrolled prisoner who came down to see if " At this moment he was shocked by a heavy hand crashing on the table and a stentorian voice rang out in Spanish: "Speak you Spanish, speak you Spanish. Muerte Dios, I understand not much English." Paul mumbled a request in Spanish to have his parole transferred to Callao.
I bowed, and walked out. The president didn't move or speak. That was one time he was taken by surprise. It's tough on you, Billy, but I couldn't help it." There seemed to be excitement in Coralio. Outside there was a confused, rising murmur pierced by high-pitched cries. "Bajo el traidor Muerte el traidor!" were the words they seemed to form.
It was my intention to have remained there all night, but it proved a ruffian sort of place, with meagre chances of comfort, and I moved on to Socorro. This is the last inhabited spot in New Mexico, as you approach the terrible desert, the Jornada del Muerte. Gode had never made the journey, and at Parida I had obtained one thing that we stood in need of, a guide.
Some of them may, indeed, be concealed under other titles, as, for instance, the piece, which Calderon himself calls, El Tuzani de la Alpujarra, is named in the collection, Amar despues de la Muerte. Others are unquestionably omitted, for instance, a Don Quixote, which I should be particularly desirous of seeing. We may infer from many circumstances that Calderon had a great respect for Cervantes.
Now prayers were going to be offered up for the dead, and the visible woman was to act as interceder with the invisible one in heaven. After being assisted to her knees, the old woman, in a cracked, yet loud, voice, began. "Santa Maria, ruega por nosotros, ahora, y en la hora de nuestra muerte!"
He had stuffed his ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was tearing strips from his handkerchief with skillful fingers. "Oughtn't he to have a doctor?" asked Carroll. "Shall I go for one?" "His mother has sent. No use, though." "He can't be saved?" "Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages." "What is it?" said Carroll hesitantly. "La muerte negra. The black death."
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