The jasmine seller

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!”.

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