In today’s morning walk in another street I heard the fragrant cry of the jasmine seller.
The same one with a mustache that had gone white like a jasmine
“Jasmines!” cried he fragrantly.
His voice sounded squeaky as though he was not a jasmine seller but just a teeny weeny mouse that had come out of his hole briefly.
“Two arm’s lengths for ten rupees? No! He squeaked to a customer and went away shouting ”jasmines!”.