I began walking around, and soon met the person who had invited me to come. I took a photo of his bird, which, to my surprise was scarcely mature. Its feathers had been removed, and, like all the others, it had been put in the sun to burn and harden its tender white skin.
My aquaintance told me he had been fighting cocks for 35 years, that he had a hundred of them at his house, including hens and chicks, all in cages, and that he was always at the cockpit. Fighting cocks to death was how he made his living.
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