Книга только для ознакомления
. My children would starve. I quoted a common saying--not my opinion. I was trying to hasten a bid for this chattel . . . as you yourself urged."
The silence was broken by a female voice saying, "Oh, let him go, Dwarol. It's not his fault how the slave's ears are shaped; he has to sell him."
The Syndonian breathed heavily. "Sell him, then!"
The auctioneer took a breath. "Yes, my lord." He pulled himself together and went on, "I beg my lords' and ladies' pardons for wasting time on a minor lot. I now ask for any bid at all."
He waited, said nervously, "I hear no bid, I see no bid. No bid once . . . if you do not bid, I am required to return this lot to stock and consult my patron before continuing. No bid twice. There are many beautiful items to be offered; it would be a shame not to show them. No bid three--"
"There's your bid," the Syndonian said.
"Eh?" The old beggar was holding up two fingers. The auctioneer stared. "Are you offering a bid?"
"Yes," croaked the old man, "if the lords and ladies permit."
The auctioneer glanced at the seated circle. Someone in the crowd shouted, "Why not? Money is money."
The Syndonian nodded; the auctioneer said quickly, "You offer two stellars for this boy?"
"No, no, no, no, no!" Baslim screamed. "Two minims!"
The auctioneer lacked at him; the beggar jerked his head aside. The auctioneer shouted, "Get out! I'll teach you to make fun of your betters!"
"Auctioneer!"
"Sir? Yes, my lord?"
The Syndonian said, "Your words were 'any bid at all
|
