Overview

An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English Cathedral tower be here! Thewell-known massive gray square tower of its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is nospike of rusty iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real prospect. What isthe spike that intervenes, and who has set it up? Maybe it is set up by the Sultan's orders for theimpaling of a horde of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the Sultan goesby to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars flash in the sunlight, and thrice tenthousand dancing-girls strew flowers. Then, follow white elephants caparisoned in countlessgorgeous colours, and infinite in number and attendants. Still the Cathedral Tower rises in thebackground, where it cannot be, and still no writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay! Is the spikeso low a thing as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an old bedstead that has tumbled allawry? Some vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted to the consideration of thispossibility.Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has thus fantastically pieceditself together, at length rises, supports his trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around. He isin the meanest and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain, the light of earlyday steals in from a miserable court. He lies, dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedsteadthat has indeed given way under the weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across the bed, notlongwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a haggard woman. The two first are in a sleep or stupor;the last is blowing at a kind of pipe, to kindle it. And as she blows, and shading it with her leanhand, concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning as a lamp to show him what hesees of her.'Another?' says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. 'Have another?'He looks about him, with his hand to his forehead.'Ye've smoked as many as five since ye come in at midnight, ' the woman goes on, as she chronicallycomplains. 'Poor me, poor me, my head is so bad. Them two come in after ye. Ah, poor me, thebusiness is slack, is slack! Few Chinamen about the Docks, and fewer Lascars, and no ships comingin, these say! Here's another ready for ye, deary. Ye'll remember like a good soul, won't ye, that themarket price is dreffle high just now? More nor three shillings and sixpence for a thimbleful! Andye'll remember that nobody but me (and Jack Chinaman t'other side the court; but he can't do it aswell as me) has the true secret of mixing it? Ye'll pay up accordingly, deary, won't ye?'She blows at the pipe as she speaks, and, occasionally bubbling at it, inhales much of its contents

Full Product Details

9798706941604

Table of Contents

Reviews

Author Information

Tab Content 6

Customer Reviews

Recent Reviews

Countries Available