They danced on silently, softly. Their feet played tricks to the beat of the tireless measure, that exquisitely asinine blare which is England's punishment for having lost America.
Some few thankless foreigners may be as you say sadly Russian, but as to me I am Russianly sad. ...”
Camels walk with a lurching gait, onomatopoetically called jonjoo in Mongolian (“jon-joo jon-joo jon-joo”), which English might render, less onomatopoetically, as “clump, clump, clump.”
It was a haunting kind of beguine with a strange sad lyric about slavery and freedom set against insistent drums and voluptuous maracas:
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