"Don't get rid of them here. Better sell their skins in Kalutsk."
"Take the twelve rubles now. Take them now. To-morrow you'll be glad to sell at ten."
"By to-morrow she'll drop down dead if you go on!"
"What! Fifteen rubles not good money? Did you say that? You?"
"Ten rubles as they stand! From hand to hand!" says a tall, dark peasant with a long beard, standing beside a cart to which are tied six horses, all skin and bone.
He says in a contemptuous tone:
"You see the horses. A red note for each. Altogether. Take them. It will mean money. Without money there's no doing anything."
I say to a fugitive:
"Don't you know that in Muchin yard, beyond the town, they're buying for the Government. There you would get a fairer price."
The fugitive does not succeed in answering for himself. Once more the crowd of people with quick movements and feverish eyes.