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"The Luck of Thirteen Wanderings and Flight through Montenegro and Serbia"

Here was the worst bread we yet had
found.
They took us down a dark passage, in which huge lumps of raw meat
hanging from the walls struck one's hand with a chill, flabby caress as
one passed. In our room, four benches were arranged into a pair of
widish couches; mattresses were given us and coarse hand-woven rugs. We
were then left. But we could not sleep; somehow lice were in one's mind,
and at last Jan awoke and lit the tiny oil lamp. He immediately slew a
bug; then another; then a whopper; then one escaped; then Jo got one. In
desperation we got up, smeared ourselves with paraffin, and lay down
again in a dismal distressed doze till morning.
Our driver was a dilatory dog: we had said that we would leave at five
a.m., and at six he was washing his teeth in the little stream which
acted as the village sewer. As we were waiting our green-coated friend
got away on his saddle horse, with his wife walking at its tail; the
other Americans climbed into a great three-horse waggon, dragged their
suit-cases after them, and off they went.


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