to break off their strangely undignified orgies. And here where you
stand is the sumptuous residence district. Houses with spacious
grounds everywhere: no densely-packed buildings. The streets have
been swept up--or lapped up--until they are spotless. Not a scrap
of paper is lying around anywhere: no rubbish, no dust. Few of the
pavements are left bare, as ours are, and those few are polished:
the rest have deep soft velvet carpets. No footfalls are heard.

There are no lights in these streets, though these people are
abroad much at night. All you see are stars overhead and the
glowing eyes of cat ladies, of lithe silken ladies who pass you,
or of stiff-whiskered men. Beware of those men and the gleam
of the split-pupiled stare. They are haughty, punctilious,
inflammable: self-absorbed too, however. They will probably not
even notice you; but if they do, you are lost. They take offense
in a flash, abhor strangers, despise hospitality, and would think
nothing of killing you or me on their way home to dinner.

Follow one of them. Enter this house. Ah what splendor! No
servants, though a few abject .monkeys wait at the back-doors, and
submissively run little errands. But of course they are never let
inside: they would seem out of place. Gorgeous couches, rich colors,
silken walls, an oriental magnificence. In here is the ballroom.
But wait: what is this in the corner? A large triumphal statue--of
a cat overcoming a dog. And look at this dining-room, its exquisite
appointments, its--daintiness: faucets for hot and cold milk in the
pantry, and a gold bowl of cream.

Some one is entering. Hush! If I could but describe her!
Languorous, slender and passionate. Sleepy eyes that see everything.