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The Bells Of San Juan

User: silviya
The Bells Of San Juan
Ignacio Chavez, Mexican That He Styled Himself, Indian That The
Community Deemed Him, Or "Breed" Of Badly Mixed Blood That He Probably
Was, Made His Loitering Way Along The Street Toward The Mission. A
Thin, Yellowish-Brown _Cigarita_ Dangling From His Lips, His Wide,
Dilapidated Conical Hat Tilted To The Left Side Of His Head In A
Listless Sort Of Concession To The Westering Sun, He Was, As Was
Customary With Him, Utterly At Peace. Ten Minutes Ago He Had Had
Twenty Cents; Two Minutes After The Acquisition Of His Elusive Wealth
He Had Exchanged The Two Dimes For Whiskey At The Casa Blanca; The
Remaining Eight Minutes Of The Ten He Required To Make His Way, As He
Naively Put It, "Between Hell And Heaven."

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