"Knockee Ah Fung on him
head and comee down here, lo. Ah Fung allee lightee now--topside.
Chasee filly doggy. Allee velly proper. No bhobbery."
"Talk less and act more," said Mrs. Sin. "Tie him up, and if you must
talk, talk Chinese. Tie him up."
She pointed to Kerry. Sin Sin Wa tucked his hands into his sleeves and
shuffled towards the masked door communicating with the inner room.
"Only by intelligent speech are we distinguished from the other
animals," he murmured in Chinese.
Entering the inner room, he began to extricate a long piece of thin
rope from amid a tangle of other materials with which it was
complicated. Mrs. Sin stood looking down at the fallen man. Neither
Kerry nor Sam Tuk gave the slightest evidence of life. And as Sin Sin
Wa disentangled yard upon yard of rope from the bundle on the floor by
the bed where Rita Irvin lay in her long troubled sleep, he crooned a
queer song. It was in the Ho-Nan dialect and intelligible to himself
alone.
"Shoa, the evil woman (he chanted), the woman of
many strange loves. . . .
Shoa, the ghoul. . . .
Lo, the Yellow River leaps forth from the nostrils
of the mountain god. . . .
Shoa, the betrayer of men. . . .
Blood is on her brow.
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