Decent old beggar." He waved his helmet again, before stretching out to sleep.

"Do you know, I believe--he _would_ take me." The clinkered hills, quivering in the west, sank gradually into the heated blur above the plains.

As gradually, the two men sank into dreams.
Furious, metallic cries from the Pretty Lily woke them, in the blue twilight.

She had moored her sampan alongside a flight of stone steps, up which, vigorously, with a bamboo, she now prodded her husband.

He contended, snarling, but mounted; and when Heywood's silver fell jingling into her palm, lighted his lantern and scuffed along, a churlish guide.