270 “Curse that boy!” He chuckled and stomped the water. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. His hands reached under her skirt. Nothing, however, could be discerned, except the crumbling brickwork.
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