Soon, as the sky began to fade into twilight, I reached a little place called Nagy-Magyar,[2] a collection of white-washed houses thatched with long reeds, unkempt and desolate, with roads of rutted mud and no pavements or garden fences. The whole village teemed with swarthy black-haired children in coloured blankets. There were dark-skinned hags with strands of greasy hair hanging out of their headcloths and tall, dark, loose-limbed and shifty-eyed young men. Zigeunervolk! Hungarian Gipsies, like the ones I saw in Pozony.
