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About forty years ago I was with my ro in Ceuta, for he was still a soldier of the king, and he said to me one day, 'I am tired of this place where there is no bread and less water, I will escape and turn Corahano; this night I will kill my sergeant and flee to the camp of the Moor. 'Do so, said I, 'my chabo, and as soon as may be I will follow you and become a Corahani. That same night he killed his sergeant, who five years before had called him Calo and cursed him, then running to the wall he dropped from it, and amidst many shots he escaped to the land of the Corahai, as for myself, I remained in the presidio of Ceuta as a suttler, selling wine and repani to the soldiers.
We both sat down and ate, Antonio voraciously. When we had concluded he arose: "Have you got your li?" he demanded. "Here it is," said I, showing him my passport. "Good," said he, "you may want it; I want none, my passport is the bar lachi. Now for a glass of repani, and then for the road."
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