A stocky gray-haired man with formal manners and a heavy unsmiling face, the clerk is oblivious to her rage; he continues unemotionally in Czech.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Tell him!” she shouts at the clerk. “Tell him what you want!”
“Sir, the lady must show her identity card. It is a regulation.”
“Why is it a regulation?” she demands. “Tell him!”
“Foreign guests must register with a passport. Czech citizens must show an identity card if they go up to the rooms to make a call.”
“Except if the Czech is a prostitute! Then she does not have to show anything but money! Here—I am a prostitute. Here is your fifty kroner—leave us in peace!”
He turns away from the money she is sticking into his face.
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