Kneaded to irresponsible pulp, half hypnotized by the perpetual flick and readjustment of the uneasy chudders that veiled their eyes, Kim slid ten thousand miles into slumber--thirty-six hours of it--sleep that soaked like rain after drought.
Then she fed him, and the house spun to her clamour.

She caused fowls to be slain; she sent for vegetables, and the sober, slow-thinking gardener, nigh as old as she, sweated for it; she took spices, and milk, and onion, with little fish from the brooks--anon limes for sherbets, fat quails from the pits, then chicken-livers upon a skewer, with sliced ginger between.
'I have seen something of this world,' she said over the crowded trays, 'and there are but two sorts of women in it--those who take the strength out of a man and those who put it back.

Once I was that one, and now I am this.

Nay--do not play the priestling with me.

Mine was but a jest.