The walls seemed to stretch into the sky like profane monoliths and Marcus shrank beneath them, giving a slow mutter that came across more as an incoherent grunt. His temperament was not improved by the crowds and the cacophony of noise, the bantering of scrawny merchants who looked to him like they had never known the value of a hard day's work. He had never seen so many people, and had no desire to see any more.
His grumblings were disrupted by a wealthy looking ponce. The sort of man who had never gone hungry before in his life. An easy life, an unjust life, an-
These thoughts too were disrupted by questions. He had no wish to engage in a conversation of any length (or, in fact, any conversation at all) and so gruffly answered with his uneven, lilted accent: "Passin' through. Don' wish te stay." He pushed past the ponce and braved the bazaar.
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