As I wandered without plan I saw nothing to indicate that I was approaching a better section such as I felt might contain the palace of a jong. The houses were all low and grimy and unlovely in design.
I saw a man standing at the intersection of two streets, and as I came close to him I stopped. He looked at me with his glassy eyes.
"I am lost," I said.
"We are all lost," he replied, his dead tongue thick in his dead mouth.
"I cannot find the house where I live."
"Go into any house; what difference does it make?"
"I want to find my own house," I insisted.
"Go and find it then. How should I know where it is if you do not?"
"It is near the house of the jong," I told him.
"Then go to the house of the jong," he suggested surlily.