But I'm not certain. The Englishman, he drank as well as
smoked, and he dropped off. One of the Persians got killed in a row
at night by the big well near the mosque a long time ago, and the
Police shut up the well, because they said it was full of foul air.
They found him dead at the bottom of it. So, you see, there is only
me, the Chinaman, the half-caste woman that we call the Memsahib
(she used to live with Fung-Tching), the other Eurasian, and one of
the Persians. The Memsahib looks very old now. I think she was a
young woman when the Gate was opened; but we are all old for the
matter of that. Hundreds and hundreds of years old. It is very
hard to keep count of time in the Gate, and besides, time doesn't
matter to me. I draw my sixty rupees fresh and fresh every month.
A very, very long while ago, when I used to be getting three hundred
and fifty rupees a month, and pickings, on a big timber-contract at
Calcutta, I had a wife of sorts. But she's dead now. People said
that I killed her by taking to the Black Smoke. Perhaps I did, but
it's so long since it doesn't matter.
Pages:
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326