Here it was that Benham stayed and talked with his host, a man robed
in marvellous silks and subtle of speech even in the European
languages he used, and meanwhile Prothero, it seemed, had gone down
into the wickedness of the town below. It was a very great town
indeed, spreading for miles along the banks of a huge river, a river
that divided itself indolently into three shining branches so as to
make islands of the central portion of the place. And on this river
swarmed for ever a vast flotilla of ships and boats, boats in which
people lived, boats in which they sought pleasure, moored places of
assembly, high-pooped junks, steamboats, passenger sampans, cargo
craft, such a water town in streets and lanes, endless miles of it,
as no other part of the world save China can display. In the
daylight it was gay with countless sunlit colours embroidered upon a
fabric of yellow and brown, at night it glittered with a hundred
thousand lights that swayed and quivered and were reflected
quiveringly upon the black flowing waters.
And while Benham sat and talked in the garden above came a messenger
who was for some reason very vividly realized by White's
imagination.
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