In Buenos Aires lived a carpenter, and his name was José Vespaciano. He was tall and slender with dark brown eyes and chestnut hair and beard; people who saw him walk the mean streets in his curious, loose robes of white sometimes started, and felt for their beads. He looked likewell, no matter whom but it was not well to pass a man like that without a sign.
One day a crone was taken sick in the Calle Margaritas Cervantes, where Vespaciano lived. He cured her by repeating a formula, which his neighbors whispered...
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