Those who know it call it The Birdcage--it is so full of whisperings and whistlings and chirrupings.
The room, with its dirty cushions and half-smoked hookahs, smelt abominably of stale tobacco.

In one corner lay a huge and shapeless woman clad in greenish gauzes, and decked, brow, nose, ear, neck, wrist, arm, waist, and ankle with heavy native jewellery.

When she turned it was like the clashing of copper pots.

A lean cat in the balcony outside the window mewed hungrily.

Kim checked, bewildered, at the door-curtain.
'Is that the new stuff, Mahbub ?' said Huneefa lazily, scarce troubling to remove the mouthpiece from her lips.