The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. Whenever Ah Cum (whose normal stride was sufficient to keep him at the side of her chair) pointed out something of interest, she had to strain the cords in her neck to focus her glance upon the object. Not enough of them to make a difference. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within.
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