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- Стр. 172/357
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Even
stranger
,
no
-
one
seemed
to
be
paying
them
much
attention
.
While
Sto
Lat
’
s
night
life
was
not
as
colourful
and
full
of
incident
as
that
of
Ankh
-
Morpork
,
in
the
same
way
that
a
wastepaper
basket
cannot
compete
with
a
municipal
tip
,
the
streets
were
nevertheless
a
-
bustle
with
people
and
shrill
with
the
cries
of
hucksters
,
gamblers
,
sellers
of
sweetmeats
,
pea
-
and
-
thimble
men
,
ladies
of
assignation
,
pickpockets
and
the
occasional
honest
trader
who
had
wandered
in
by
mistake
and
couldn
’
t
now
raise
enough
money
to
leave
.
As
Mort
rode
through
them
snatches
of
conversation
in
half
-
a
-
dozen
languages
floated
into
his
ears
;
with
numb
acceptance
he
realised
he
could
understand
every
one
of
them
.
He
eventually
dismounted
and
led
the
horse
along
Wall
Street
,
searching
in
vain
for
Cutwell
’
s
house
.
He
found
it
only
because
a
lump
on
the
nearest
poster
was
making
muffled
swearing
noises
.
He
reached
out
gingerly
and
pulled
aside
a
strip
of
paper
.
Tanks
very
much
,
’
said
the
gargoyle
doorknocker
.
’
You
wouldn
’
t
credit
it
,
would
you
?
One
minute
life
as
normal
,
nexft
minute
a
mouthful
of
glue
.
’
’
Where
’
s
Cutwell
?
’
’
He
’
s
gone
off
to
the
palace
.
’
The
knocker
leered
at
him
and
winked
a
cast
-
iron
eye
.
’
Some
men
came
and
took
all
his
fstuff
away
.
Then
some
ovver
men
started
pasting
pictures
of
his
girlfriend
all
over
the
place
.
Barftuds
,
’
it
added
.
Mort
coloured
.
’
His
girlfriend
?
’
The
doorknocker
,
being
of
the
demonic
persuasion
,
sniggered
at
his
tone
.
It
sounded
like
fingernails
being
dragged
over
a
file
.
’
Yeff
,
’
it
said
.
