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 that would astonish you. When the great heat's over we'll take a turn on the Alameda."

The programme went on relentless, like a law of nature. The turn on the Alameda was taken with slow steps and stately remarks.

"All the great world of Sulaco here, sir," Captain Mitchell bowed right and left with no end of formality; then with animation, "Doña Emilia, Mrs. Gould's carriage. Look. Always white mules. The kindest, most gracious woman the sun ever shone upon. A great position, sir—a great position. First lady in Sulaco-far before the President's wife. And worthy of it." He took off his hat; then, with a studied change of tone, added, negligently, that the man in black by her side, with a high white collar and a scarred, snarly face, was Dr. Monygham, inspector of state hospitals, chief medical officer of the Consolidated San Tomé mines. "A familiar of the house. Everlastingly there. No wonder. The Goulds made him. Very clever man and all that, but I never liked him. Nobody does. I can recollect him limping about the streets in a check shirt and native sandals with a watermelon under his arm—all he would get to eat for the day. A big-wig now, sir, and as nasty as ever. However. . . . There's no doubt he has played his part fairly well at the time. He saved us all from the deadly incubus of Sotillo, where a more particular man might have failed—"

His arm went up.

"The equestrian statue that used to stand on the pedestal over there has been removed. It was an anachronism," Captain Mitchell commented obscurely.