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something in Spanish and my Pole said, of course,
in French, as he did not speak English, " He speaks
fifteenth-century Spanish.55 My Pole knew Spanish
literature very well indeed, and answered him, and
they had a conversation. We asked him to have a
drink, but he disappeared behind the wall in the
same way that he had appeared. We never saw him
again. My Pole said to me that it was a drole de
chose, and I agreed with him.
One morning I went out with my string bag to
buy the food for the day. I saw outside the butcher's
a cart full of pigs that had come to be killed. I
thought that perhaps they would kill them in a
slaughter-house and went for a walk to buy butter
and bread. When I came back I saw one pig sitting
outside the butcher's shop with its head on its front
paws, and large tears streaming out of its eyes. I
was told that its brother had been killed in the
street before its eyes and that it was crying. This
sounds a fantastic story. I walked away and told
my Pole. He said that it was true and that pigs
were so like human beings that they wept when they
were unhappy. An hour later I went back to buy
some pork and they gave it to me and it was warm
and I cried too. R,, my Pole, and I went for walks
together. Madame R. could not and would not.
We were all glad about this as her only topics of
conversation were her diseases and her troubles.
We walked sometimes to Port Vendres. I sat in
the cafe on the front. There was a very high
mountain behind Gollioure. We wanted to climb
it, but heard that it was very much further away