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IV
CORDOBA
E have been in Seville for a whole month, but
our stay cannot last forever. Shortly after
the opening of the new year we make up our minds,
drive for the last time through this city which has held
our senses slave, and take our seats in the train for
Cordoba.
‘The time for the train’s departure has come, but the
train does not budge. A quarter-hour passes, a half-
hour; people are still arriving and getting into the
train but there is no passenger here who glares at the
newcomers from his seat, none that claps his hand on
the compartment door to keep out the new arrivals, or
who trips them up as they toilsomely clamber in with
their baggage.
“There’s room here, come this way!” they cry to
the helpless one, though all the seats are taken. And
if he hesitates, some one shouts:
“Get in, get in; my dear man, I’m only going to the
next station and don’t mind standing a bit.” Hands
ready to serve seize his luggage and stow it under the
seats and the man himself follows after—hot, dripping
with perspiration, his back to the other window. He
was the last-comer; he insists he will stand, nothing is
so good for him as standing; in fact, his physician has
ordered him to stand! But the other passengers will
not consent; just because he is the last to come he shall
not stand—after all they are not rowdies! And they
5I
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