Mazarine showed what he thought
by spitting in Li Choo's face, and then rushing into the house to get the
raw-hide whip with which he had punished the Chinaman before, and with
which he had threatened his wife.
When he returned a moment afterwards, Li Choo was nowhere to be seen; but
in his place were two other Chinamen who had, as it were, fallen from the
skies, standing where Li Choo had stood, immobile, blinking and passive
like Li Choo, their hands lost in the long sleeves of their coats, their
pigtails so tightly braided as, in seeming, to draw their slanting
eyelids still to greater incline, and to give a look of petrified
intentness to their faces.
Something in their attitude gave Mazarine apprehension. It was as though
Li Choo had been transformed by some hellish magic into two other
Chinamen. The rage of his being seemed to stupefy him; he could not
resist the sensation of the unnatural.
"What do you want? How did you come here?" he asked of the two in a husky
voice.
"We want speak Li Choo. We come see Li Choo," answered one of the
Chinamen impassively.
"He was here a minute ago," answered Mazarine gruffly.
Then he turned away, going swiftly toward the kitchen, and calling to Li
Choo. As he went, he was conscious of low, cackling laughter, but when he
turned to look, the two Chinamen stood where he had left them, blinking
and immobile.
The uncanny feeling possessing him increased; the thing was unnatural.
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