Beggars were everywhere, exhibiting their gains in
front of them. If one could understand they seemed to cry like this--
"Ere y'are, the old firm; put your generous money on the real thing. I
'as more misery to the square inch than any other 'as to the square
yard."
We found bargaining impossible, as they only spoke Albanian, and we
could only get as far as "Sar," how much.
Pavlovitch turned up later and was very helpful. We hurried him to a
silver shop which was displaying a round silver boss. He beat them down
from sixteen to ten dinars, after which we plunged into a side street
filled with women squatted cross-legged behind a collection of
everything that an industrious woman who owns sheep can confection.
"I have nothing for thee," said an old woman to Jo, who peered into her
basket--Pavlovitch translating.
Jo withdrew a tiny pair of stockings--a marvel of knitting in many
coloured patterns.
"What about these?" she said.
"Hast thou children?"
"No; but how much?" said Jo.
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