A dark face peered in between the baking oven and the wall, a swarthy
Albanian face. It looked at us and then silently withdrew.
"It doesn't matter," said somebody at last, "we've got to stick it."
We roused up neither rested nor refreshed. The room seen in the dim
light of the morning seemed even more revolting than it had been the
night before. We demanded the bill, it was brought--five francs for
apples which we had bought. And for the room? Nothing. We gave our host
three francs extra, and he bowed, putting his hands to his bosom and
kissed our palms.
There was a good stiff clay soil waiting for our tiring feet, and by the
time we reached Berane, there was no thought of going further. Almost
every one was exhausted.
We reached the shores of the river. The bridge had been washed away, but
the inhabitants had made a boat like a sort of huge wooden shoe which
they dragged to and fro with ropes. We clambered in and were hauled
over. Our baggage had not yet arrived, so Jan and Stajitch ordered lunch
for the others and went down to see about it.
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