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Mr. Isaacs by F. Marion (Francis Marion) Crawford
page 22 of 266 (08%)
gems and objects of intrinsic value. It is now twelve years since I
landed in Bombay. I have never soiled my hands with usury, though I have
twice advanced large sums at legal interest for purposes I am not at
liberty to disclose; I have never cheated a customer or underrated a gem
I bought of a poor man, and my wealth, as you may judge from what you
have seen, is considerable. Moreover, though in constant intercourse
with Hindus and English, I have not forfeited my title to be called a
true believer and a follower of the prophet, whose name be blessed."

Isaacs ceased speaking, and presently the waning moon rose pathetically
over the crest of the mountains with that curiously doleful look she
wears after the full is past, as if weeping over the loss of her better
half. The wind rose and soughed drearily through the rhododendrons and
the pines; and Kiramat Ali, the pipe-bearer, shivered audibly as he drew
his long cloth uniform around him. We rose and entered my friend's
rooms, where the warmth of the lights, the soft rugs and downy cushions,
invited us temptingly to sit down and continue our conversation. But it
was late, for Isaacs, like a true Oriental, had not hurried himself over
his narrative, and it had been nine o'clock when we sat down to smoke.
So I bade him good-night, and, musing on all I had heard and seen,
retired to my own apartments, glancing at Sirius and at the
unhappy-looking moon before I turned in from the verandah.

* * * * *




CHAPTER II.

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