She watched the faces of the passers-by pensively.
Presently she pointed out of the window to a gray-bearded old man tottering along in the gutter with a trayful of matches.

A cold wind was blowing through his rags.
"Look!" she exclaimed.

"Look at that! In my own country, yes, but here I do not understand.

They tell me that this is the richest city in the world, and the most charitable." "There must be poor everywhere," Arnold replied, a little puzzled.
She stared at him.
"It is not your laws I would complain of," she said.

"It is your individuals.