She went to

Not one of the candidates did not fit the girl, and the search for a man continued. She went to the fortuneteller. “He is either a Pole or an Italian, a blisor, works on a dissertation and gnaws at pencils,” the clairvoyant predicted, squeezing her palm and sliding into a trance. The fortuneteller has a pleasant voice, it is not clear where the exact information about her life is from, but all this is nervous for the girl, and she leaves. Where, in what place she has to meet her scum, remains unclear.