Kāra laughed.
“Did I not say we were half starved, and live like foxes in a hole? For raiment we have each one ragged garment. But the outside of man matters little, save to those who have nothing within. Treasures may be kept in a rotten chest.”
“But personally you would prefer a handsome casket?”
“Of course. It is Hatatcha who teaches me philosophy to make me forget my rags.”
The Englishman reflected.
“Do you labor in the fields?” he asked.
“She will not let me,” said Kāra. “If my wrongs were righted, she holds, I would even now be king of Egypt. The certainty that they will never be righted does not alter the morale of the case.”
“Does Hatatcha earn money herself?”
“She sits in her hut morning and night, muttering curses upon her enemies.”
“Then how do you live at all?”