The Desolation of Roslavl
81
hundred roubles, you can buy for twentyfive. Do you wish to buy?
—Wait for me, wait for me. I'll take you to the horses.
—Mr. Squire, Mr. Squire, here are horses. Farm horses! And cheap! Cheap! I'll bring them to you.
There's no getting through the horses in the market—no possibility of penetrating through.
There stands one great solid crowd.
Quick people even slip about under the horses.
What the prices are you may judge from separate exclamations.
—If there's such a bargain anywhere else on God's earth I'd like to hear of it! says a fugitive, turning over and turning over again the dirty notes which he has received.
—Don't get rid of them here. Better sell their skins in Kalutsk.
