He wrote a letter of farewell to the closely fitting basque,
and opened the bottle of Prussic acid.
Some one knocked at his door. It was a Chinaman, with his weekly
linen.
These Chinese are docile, but not intelligent. They are ingenious,
but not creative. They are cunning in expedients, but deficient in
tact. In love they are simply barbarous. They purchase their
wives openly, and not constructively by attorney. By offering
small sums for their sweethearts, they degrade the value of the
sex.
Nevertheless, N N. felt he was saved. He explained all to the
faithful Mongolian, and exhibited the letter he had written. He
implored him to deliver it.
The Mongolian assented. The race are not cleanly or sweet-savored,
but N N. fell upon his neck. He embraced him with one hand, and
closed his nostrils with the other. Through him, he felt he
clasped the close-fitting basque.
The next day was one of agony and suspense. Evening came, but no
Mercy. N N. lit the charcoal. But, to compose his nerves, he
closed his door and first walked mildly up and down Montgomery
Steeet. When he returned, he found the faithful Mongolian on the
steps.
--All lity!
These Chinese are not accurate in their pronunciation.
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