He seemed to speak by rote. His manner was
too eager to suit the impressiveness of his words. "The sheep are without
a shepherd," he said. "The young men marry among the Gorgios, or they are
lost in the cities and return no more to the tents and the fields and the
road. There is disorder in all the world among the Romanys. The ancient
ways are forgotten. Our people gather and settle upon the land and live
as the Gorgios live. They forget the way beneath the trees, they lose
their skill in horses. If the fountain is choked, how shall the water
run?"
A cold sneer came to the face of Gabriel Druse. "The way beneath the
trees!" he growled. "The way of the open road is enough. The way beneath
the trees is the way of the thief, and the skill of the horse is the
skill to cheat."
"There is no other way. It has been the way of the Romany since the time
of Timur Beg and centuries beyond Timur, so it is told. One man and all
men must do as the tribe has done since the beginning."
The old man pulled at his beard angrily. "You do not talk like a Romany,
but like a Gorgio of the schools."
The young man's manner became more confident as he replied. "Thinking on
what was to come to me, I read in the books as the Gorgio reads. I sat in
my tent and worked with a pen; I saw in the printed sheets what the world
was doing every day.
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