a close translation; a close copy
Still feeling faintish, I asked to be excused from dinner.
Naeema didn't give zero fucks about either one of them, their hustles, their wives, their sidechicks, nor their kids if they had any.
Their Priest, which they call Tallapoi, are seeming very zealously superstitious: they somewhat incline to Mahometanism; for they pretend they will not drink wine, being forbidden it by their Law, yet are abominable hypocrites: for, though they wear a sheep-skin with the wool thereon, not suffering any hair to be on their bodies, and in shew lead a chaste life, yet I found the contrary; as you shall understand by what past between one of them and my self.
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