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“How much for the gonja?” I asked. “Three for a thousand shillings.” “Too much.” “Three gonja for seven hundred shillings,” a shorter boy in a brown shirt said. “I will take three.” I purchased gonja, water, and two muchomo.

They emerged atop the broad curving steps that fronted on the Street of the Sisters, near the foot of Visenya's Hill.

Silenus sung; the vales his voice rebound, / And carry to the skies the sacred sound.