“Offal!”
“Somebody help the woman-general up.”
“Dust his skirts.”
“Wipe off the spit.”
The officer rose with difficulty, purple, speechless. His retinue fell back terror-stricken, and the bearers of the wife’s sedan skipped nimbly away. His rage, however, only gave new impetus to the crowd’s joy. They yelped, groaned, sighed and begged piteously for someone to help the officer get mad.
“It is a known fact,” rose a howl above the rest, “that a general can never get in a rage.”
“Poke him!”
“Punch him!”
The crowd was getting dangerous. A silence fell upon it.
“Get the general his fan; he is going now.”