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- A DAGGER
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- I always carry tightly under my belt
- a small african steel dagger
- -- like those that blacks are used to playing with --
- that I bought from an old merchant in Algiers.
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- I remember, as if it were now, the old shopkeeper,
- who looked like an old oil painting by Goya,
- standing next to long swords and tattered uniforms,
- saying in a hoarse voice the following words :
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- "This here dagger that you want to buy
- legend has surrounded with eery stories,
- and everyone knows that those who owned it at some time,
- each has murdered one close to him.
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- Don Basilio murdered Donna Julia with it,
- his beautiful wife, because she was unfaithful.
- Conte Antonio, one night, his wretched brother
- was slyly murdering with this here dagger.
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- A black his young lover out of jealousy
- and some Italian sailor a Greek boatswain.
- From hand to hand it passed and into mine.
- Many things my eyes have seen, but this one makes me quiver.
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- Come close and look at it, it has an anchor and a crest,
- it's light, why take it, it's not even a quarter,
- but I would advise you to buy something else."
- -- How much? -- Seven francs only. As long as you want it, take it.
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- A small dagger I have tightly in my belt,
- that a whim made me make it my own;
- and because I hate no one in the world to kill,
- I am afraid lest some day I turn it against myself ...
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- ~ Nikos Kavvadias ~
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