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Chapter 7

           Sheisoneofthoseoldwomenthatyoufindinthiscountryatthebackofhuts,crouchingoverfireplaces,withastickonthegroundbytheirside,andalmosttoofeebletodriveawaythestraydogsfromtheircooking-pots.Caramba!Icouldtellbyhervoicethatdeathhadforgottenher.But,oldoryoung,theylikemoney,andwillspeakwellofthemanwhogivesittothem.’Helaughedalittle.‘Senor,youshouldhavefelttheclutchofherpawasIputthepieceinherpalm.’Hepaused.‘Mylast,too,’headded.

           “Imadenocomment.He’sknownforhisliberalityandhisbadluckatthegameofmonte,whichkeepshimaspooraswhenhefirstcamehere.

           “‘Isuppose,DonMartin,’hebegan,inathoughtful,speculativetone,‘thattheSenorAdministradorofSanTomewillrewardmesomedayifIsavehissilver?’

           “Isaidthatitcouldnotbeotherwise,surely.Hewalkedon,mutteringtohimself.‘Si,si,withoutdoubt,withoutdoubt;and,lookyou,SenorMartin,whatitistobewellspokenof!Thereisnotanothermanthatcouldhavebeeneventhoughtofforsuchathing.Ishallgetsomethinggreatforitsomeday.Andletitcomesoon,’hemumbled.‘Timepassesinthiscountryasquickasanywhereelse.’

           “This,soeurcherie,ismycompanioninthegreatescapeforthesakeofthegreatcause.Heismorenaivethanshrewd,moremasterfulthancrafty,moregenerouswithhispersonalitythanthepeoplewhomakeuseofhimarewiththeirmoney.

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