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Updated: May 28, 2025
In days not so very long past the streets were filled with picturesque costumes of the provinces, with gaily decorated mules and donkeys carrying immense loads of hay or straw, or huge nets filled with melons or pumpkins, almost hiding everything but the head and the feet of the animal; or a smart-looking "Jacket" man from the country districts would go whistling by, Asturians, Murcians, Gallegos, gypsies, toreros in their brilliant traje Andaluz always to be recognised by their tiny pigtails of hair, and by their splendidly lithe and graceful carriage all these jostling, singing, chaffing each other, while the jingling bells on innumerable horses, mules, donkeys, rang through the sunlit air, and made the Puerta de Sol and the streets branching from it a constant scene of life and gaiety.
"Tell me, gallant gentlemen," said he, "are you admitted to the Mala Entrada, or not?" Mala Entrada, the evil way. "We do not understand your meaning, noble Sir," replied Rincon. "How! not entered, brave Murcians?" replied the other. "We are neither of Murcia nor of Thebes," replied Cortado. "If you have anything else to say to us, speak; if not, go your ways, and God be with you."
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