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The sleeping kangs of the Chinese inns, which are made of beaten earth and heated in winter like an oven, harbor these pests the year round, not to mention the filthy coverlets and greasy pillows that were sometimes offered us. Had we not had our own sleeping-bags, and used the camera, provision-bag, and coats for pillows, our life would have been intolerable.
"I've larned by exparience that ye niver can be puff sure o' nothin' in this puff remarkable country. Jist look at Darkey now," continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger. "There he is, a livin' Naygur, aliftin' of the provision-bag out o' the canoe.
At this juncture, I took out of my provision-bag a remarkably fine piece of pork, and began to contemplate it by the light of the moon with the critical eye of a connoisseur.
"I've larned by exparience that ye niver can be puff sure o' nothin' in this puff remarkable country. Jist look at Darkey now," continued the Irishman, sitting down on a stone before the fire, which now began to kindle up, and stuffing the tobacco into his pipe with his little finger. "There he is, a livin' Naygur, a-liftin' of the provision-bag out o' the canoe.
If the parson dropped a nut on the floor, down went Whiskey after it, and into his provision-bag it went, and then he would look up as if he expected another; for he had a wallet on each side of his jaws, and he always wanted both sides handsomely filled before he made for his hole.
This picturesque costume well set off their rich olive complexions, and black eyes beneath dark-brown lashes. There were no signs of an approaching evening meal until we opened our provision-bag, and handed over certain articles of raw food to be cooked for us.
The cutting off of buttons and extra parts of our clothing, as well as the shaving of our heads and faces, was also included by our friends in the list of curtailments. For the same reason one of our cameras, which we always carried on our backs, and refilled at night under the bedclothes, we sold to a Chinese photographer at Suidun, to make room for an extra provision-bag.
Then he saw a man running very fast and asked him who he was. He said his name was Skeggi and that he was a man from Ass in Vatnsdal in the North. "I am travelling with Thorkell," he said. "I have been careless and lost my provision-bag." "Alone in misfortune is worst. I also have lost my stock of provisions; so we can look for them together."
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