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Updated: May 9, 2025
I was the richer by my visit to his stall, for I found good reading for at least a week. And the old Persian accepted the silver coin and dropped it into an old wooden box, looking the while with melancholy upon the unsold kerosinka. It sometimes happens that, entering a house, one enters not simply into the presence of a family but into that of a nation.
"Five shillings," cried the Persian "four shillings." "Ninepence," I replied, and moved farther away. "Two shillings." He bawled something more, inaudibly, but I was already out of hearing. I happened to repass his stall accidentally later in the morning. "That kerosinka," said the Persian "take it; it is yours at one shilling and sixpence."
The shopmen ask outrageous prices, but do not expect to be paid them. "How much the kerosinka?" I asked in sport. "Ten shillings," said an old, sorrowful-looking Persian. I laughed sarcastically, and was about to move away. The Persian was taking the oil-stove to bits to show me its inward perfection. "Name your price," said he.
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