She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. The Wastrel did not relish this. Business exists for such interruptions. "Oh! they are—are they?" muttered Jack, triumphantly; "that'll do. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion.
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