Rudyard Kipling. Kim
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THEY entered the fort-like railway station, black in the end of night; the electrics sizzling over the goods yard where they handle the heavy Northern grain-traffic.
'This is the work of devils!' said the lama, recoiling from the hollow echoing darkness, the glimmer of rails between the masonry platforms, and the maze of girders above. He stood in a gigantic stone hall paved, it seemed, with the sheeted dead – third-class passengers who had taken their tickets overnight and were sleeping in the waiting-rooms. All hours of the twenty-four are alike to Orientals, and their passenger traffic is regulated accordingly.
'I do not know.'
'But thou wast sent to me – wast thou sent to me? – for the merit I had acquired over yonder at Suchzen. From beside the cannon didst thou come – bearing two faces – and two garbs.'