nd all
the odors of shore life which clung to their uncouth petticoats.

It was broad day, and the light, now harsh and blue, was throwing every
object into a clean-cut outline up against the leaden sky, when, with a
lazy tinkle of distant bells, four _tartanas_ hove in view, making their
way toward the Sea-Bridge, drawn by wretched nags that seemed able to
keep their feet only because the drivers, huddled low in their seats,
their coat collars turned up over their ears, kept pulling at the reins.
The black bodies of the two-wheeled wagons pitched about over the ruts
in the road like old belly-cracked boats tossing at the mercy of the
waves. The wagon-hoods showed their reed framework here and there
through the rents in their tarred canvas. Plasters of red paste covered
some of the smaller holes. The ironwork was squeaky and broken, the
breaks repaired with strings. The wheels were splashed and scaly with
the winter's mud. Outfits, decidedly, that had seen better days!

The front openings of the wagon-coverings were protected by flaps,
painted, for one trace of ornament, at least, in a red, now faded.
Looking into the vehicles from behind, where everything was open, the
_senoras_ of the Fishmarket, sitting in rows with their baskets, might
have been seen, each woman wearing a checkered shawl, with a colored
kerchief covering breast and shoulders. So the rickety carts came on,
leaving behind them as they passed a sickening stench of rotting
sea-life. They tilted alarmingly as one wheel would sink into a deep
hole, till the wheel on the other side would find a chasm just as deep,
and the hood careened in that direction.

The four _tartanas_ pulled up in front of the office; and down over
their steps numberless worn-out shoes, undarned stockings, dirty,
protruding heels began to come, under a flutter of skirts caught up in
front over yellow petticoats with black arabesques. The baskets were set
down in line near the platform of the scales, each covered with a wet
cloth. From underneath the strip of canvas shone the silver of a herring
or the vermilion of a salmon, or the greenish blue of a lobster's claw,
quivering with the tremor of agony. Alongside the baskets lay the
bigger fish, broad-tailed sea-bass, their circular jaws wide open,
showing the white, round tongues and the dark throats, while their
bodies were stretched backward, taut in the contraction of death; and
flat, enormously wide skates, their fins spread out