“Goddammit Hazel, how dumb are you? There ain’t no mystery here. They added these little ramps so the damn merchants could haul their lousy carts up and down the steps without breaking their backs,” her husband said, snarling behind the soggy end of a cigar. “Or the backs of their mules, if these poor bastards were lucky enough to have one.”
Hazel worried the loose skin of her neck. She worked on swallowing the chalky lump suddenly in her throat.
“Oh, of course,” she said, with a practised calm. “Well, we should keep moving if we’re going to see everything.”