In the name of the Gods, get her her pipe and stop her ill-omened mouth,' cried an Oorya, tying up his shapeless bundles of bedding.

'She and the parrots are alike.

They screech in the dawn.' 'The lead-bullocks! Hai! Look to the lead-bullocks!' They were backing and wheeling as a grain-cart's axle caught them by the horns.
'Son of an owl, where dost thou go ?' This to the grinning carter.
'Ai! Yai! Yai! That within there is the Queen of Delhi going to pray for a son,' the man called back over his high load.

'Room for the Queen of Delhi and her Prime Minister the grey monkey climbing up his own sword!' Another cart loaded with bark for a down-country tannery followed close behind, and its driver added a few compliments as the ruth-bullocks backed and backed again.
From behind the shaking curtains came one volley of invective.

It did not last long, but in kind and quality, in blistering, biting appropriateness, it was beyond anything that even Kim had heard.