The little man immediately gripped it in his small fingers, which, soft and delicately made as they were, possessed a strength hardly to have been expected either from their shape, or from the small proportions of him to whom they belonged.
"Still wandering ?" asked the little man, with a slightly sarcastic intonation.

He spoke in a deep, caressing bass, not loud, but rich in quality and free from that jarring harshness which often belongs to very manly voices.

A musician would have discovered that the pitch was that of those Russian choristers whose deep throats yield organ tones, a full octave below the compass of ordinary singers in other lands.
"You must have wandered, too, since we last met," replied the taller man.
"I never wander," said Keyork.

"When a man knows what he wants, knows where it is to be found, and goes thither to take it, he is not wandering.

Moreover, I have no thought of removing myself or my goods from Prague.