Dal Shabet

On his way to the market, Ratislav was stopped by a boy of about 12 who ran up to him. He was dirty and dressed in rags. - Hey, mister! Can you spare some change?

Having lived in Nevermore for about two years, Ratislav had already gotten used to this kind of beggar. He felt neither particular disgust nor pity for them; it was a common occurrence in this part of the city.
-Here, - Ratislav tossed about a hundred R to the boy, - and now get lost and don't bother me again. Do I look like a rich man from Rienevka?