Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. . About many of these houses hung a mysterious taint as of something weakly and commonly and dustily evil; the women who negotiated the rooms looked out through a friendly manner as though it was a mask, with hard, defiant eyes.
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