Every essential thing was present in the market, though never in very good condition. Whether a rivet or a kettle or a set of tongs, the blacksmith’s iron was always rusted. The clothier had plenty of shirts and pants for sale in a variety of inhuman sizes. A blue-skinned doctor sold a powerful tonic, which he promised would cure everything from gout to gunshots without a single side effect other than a slight (and attractive!) bluing of the complexion. Everything was bent, corroded, patched, and mismatched. Yet to a man without a country, the market was a garden of delights.
