"
"Ay! Pass!" said one of the gamblers.
"Yes, I'd be sorry," continued Besuguito, heedless of the
interruption. "But the truth is that it would be a small loss, for, as
Angelillo, the district watchman says, nobody lives here except
outcasts, pickpockets and prostitutes."
"Shut up, you 'fairy!' You barrack hack!" shouted the proprietress.
"This district is as good as yours."
"You're right, there," replied Besuguito, "for you ought to see the
Portillo de Embajadores and las Penuelas. I tell you. Why, the
watchman can't get them to shut their doors at night. He closes them
and the neighbours open them again. Because they're almost all
denizens of the underworld. And they do give me such frights...."
An uproar greeted the frights of Besuguito, who continued unabashed
his meaningless, repetitious chatter, which was adorned with all
manner of notions and involutions. Manuel rested an arm upon the
table, and with his cheek upon it, he fell asleep.
"Hey you! Why aren't you drinking, Pastiri?" asked Leandro. "Do you
mean to offend me? Me?"
"No, friend, I simply can't get any more down," answered the
card-sharper in his insolent voice, raising his open hand to his
throat. Then, in a voice that seemed to come from a broken organ, he
shouted:
"Paloma!"
"Who's calling that woman?" demanded Valencia immediately, glaring at
the group of gamblers.
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