Toby made no effort to hide his disdain for the shopkeeper and his little corner boutique.
“I think you will find this item particularly appealing,” the shopkeeper said, gesturing to a small purple velvet pouch secured with a glossy gold pull rope.
“What is it?” Toby asked curtly.
“A bag of manure.”
“A bag of manure!?”
“Yes—steaming,” the shopkeeper added.
“Why in God’s name would I want to purchase a bag of steaming manure?” Toby said as he turned toward the door.
“It’s from France.”
Toby stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“I’ll take two.”
“I think you will find this item particularly appealing,” the shopkeeper said, gesturing to a small purple velvet pouch secured with a glossy gold pull rope.
“What is it?” Toby asked curtly.
“A bag of manure.”
“A bag of manure!?”
“Yes—steaming,” the shopkeeper added.
“Why in God’s name would I want to purchase a bag of steaming manure?” Toby said as he turned toward the door.
“It’s from France.”
Toby stopped, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“I’ll take two.”
