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358
THE YELLOW CLAW
A guttural voice was speaking, from a vast distance away:
“What is this that you bwring us, Mahâra?”
Answered a sweet, silvery voice:
“Does it matter to you what I bringing? It is one I hate—hate—hate! There will be two cases of ‘ginger’ to go away some day instead of one—that is all! Said, yälla!”
“Your pwrimitive passions will wruin us”…
The silvery voice grew even more silvery:
“Do you quarrel with me, Ho-Pin, my friend?”
“This is England, not Burma! Gianapolis”…
“Ah! Whisper—whisper it to him, and”…
Oblivion closed in upon Helen Cumberly; she seemed to be sinking into the heart of a giant rose.
