Gulliver's.
"And the people of the Yahoos, Traveller," he said, "do they still
lie, and flatter, and bribe, and spill blood, and lust, and covet? Are
there yet in the country whence you come the breadless bellies, the
sores and rags and lamentations of the poor? Ay, Yahoo, and do vicious
men rule, and attain riches; and impious women pomp and
flattery?--hypocrites, pandars, envious, treacherous, proud?" He
stared with desolate sorrow and wrath into my eyes.
Words in disorder flocked to my tongue. I grew hot and eager, yet by
some instinct held my peace. The fluttering of the dying flames, the
starry darkness, silence itself; what were we who sat together?
Transient shadows both, phantom, unfathomable, mysterious as these.
I fancied he might speak again. Once he started, raised his arm, and
cried out as if acting again in dream some frenzy of the past. And
once he wheeled on me extraordinary eyes, as if he half-recognised
some idol of the irrevocable in my face. These were momentary,
however. Gloom returned to his forehead, vacancy to his eyes.
I heard the outer gate flung open, and a light, strange footfall.
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