Page:The King of the Dark Chamber.djvu/69

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THE DARK CHAMBER
69

When death, the old hag, steals to our doors
We snap our fingers at her face,
And we sing in a chorus with gay flourishes
Fol de rol de rol.

Kanchi

Look over there, Koshala, who are those coming this way? A pantomime? Somebody is out masquerading as a King.

Koshala

The King of this place may tolerate all this tomfoolery, but we won’t.

Avanti

He is perhaps some rural chief.

Enter Guards on foot

Kanchi

What country does your King come from?