The don departs. It is time to travel on the trail of no tears, the road of no regret, the route of no return. Ah, but the don doesn't disremember that the thoughtful trooper should smile and saunter boldly, braving Death as though he were an old acquaintance. So should he purposelessly parade on the path of pessimistic poignancy? No! He carves his own causeway, weaving words like a warm winter's wind.
I avail myself of the Star's humble, hospitable home. I need no longer to live by lingering, and imposing on her indulgence to aid. I am a roaming rival of that repulsive reprobate, Death, that despicable, dirty, deplorable desperado. I am the ingenious gentleman, Sir Thighpiece, of the Mancha!
Where I am needed, I will near; where I am wanted, I will wander. All who require remedies or have an urgency and are in need of aid, you need no more than to ask, and the don and Rocinante will rush rapidly to your relief, asking no reward but a gracious grin and a gleeful guffaw.
I promise I won't pass by any person, nor leave without laboring to lift their load. But now, I will walk on the wind and swim in the sea, ready to race or rescue.
I will discover again my Dulcinea.
I've caught a cry in the city. I go. I shall regale you all with stories of the scene soon.
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