Amidst it all, however, there were several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to cell to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. "Ruth?" he called. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. " By this time, the chair had been brought into the Lodge. After all, why should I care what strangers think?" Ruth asked with sudden heat. “Why don’t they wait?” he added. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. It's only a gentleman come to offer you his hand. He had only to recall this fact (which he did in each crisis) to erect a barrier she could not go around or over.
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