"What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. "But she is saying something to me! What is it?" The hotel manager, who spoke Cantonese with facility, interpreted. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. So frightful, indeed, were the ravages of this malady, to which debtors and felons were alike exposed, that its miserable victims were frequently carried out by cart-loads, and thrown into a pit in the burial-ground of Christ-church, without ceremony.
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