““Hold on,” said Cohen, who had sagged onto a rock. “Wash it one of thoshe shopsh—I mean, I bet you hadn’t noticed it before and when you went back again it washn’t there?” Twoflower brightened. “That’s right!” “Shopkeeper a little wizened old guy? Shop full of strange shtuff?” “Exactly! Never could find it again, I thought I must have got the wrong street, nothing but a brick wall where I thought it was, I remember thinking at the time it was rather—” Cohen shrugged. “One of those shops,”* he said. “That explainsh it, then.””
