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"Bogota? His mind has hardly formed yet. He has only
the beginnings of speech."
A little boy nipped his hand. "Bogota!" he said mockingly.
"Aye! A city to your village. I come from the great world--where
men have eyes and see."
"His name's Bogota," they said.
"
He stumbled," said Correa--"stumbled twice as we came
hither."
"Bring him in to the elders."
And they thrust him suddenly through a doorway into a room as
black as pitch, save at the end there faintly glowed a fire. The
crowd closed in behind him and shut out all but the faintest
glimmer of day, and before he could arrest himself he had fallen
headlong over the feet of a seated man. His arm, outflung, struck
the face of someone else as he went down; he felt the soft impact
of features and heard a cry of anger, and for a moment he struggled
against a number of hands that clutched him. It was a one-sided
fight. An inkling of the situation came to him and he lay quiet.
"I fell down," he said; "I couldn't see in this pitchy
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