The End of Time
“By then the seller—a boy—had already passed by. I bolted after him and caught him by an arm.
“What do you want?” he cried, twisting away with much annoyance.
“Are your fish truly from Iceland?” I asked, breathless.
“Of course they are. Dried to perfection,” he said. “Six for a penny.” He held one up. It was twice as large as my hand, dull gray in color with dry, sunken eyes.
“But…where do they come from?”
“Are you deaf? Iceland!”
“In faith,” I said with growing excitemen...t. “Do you know where that is?”
“Not I.”
“Then how do you come by these fish?”
“A man in the market”—he pointed—“offered me a penny if I would walk about and sell.”
“What kind of man?”
“You are a dunce!MoreLess
“What do you want?” he cried, twisting away with much annoyance.
“Are your fish truly from Iceland?” I asked, breathless.
“Of course they are. Dried to perfection,” he said. “Six for a penny.” He held one up. It was twice as large as my hand, dull gray in color with dry, sunken eyes.
“But…where do they come from?”
“Are you deaf? Iceland!”
“In faith,” I said with growing excitemen...t. “Do you know where that is?”
“Not I.”
“Then how do you come by these fish?”
“A man in the market”—he pointed—“offered me a penny if I would walk about and sell.”
“What kind of man?”
“You are a dunce!MoreLess
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