Manchurian Books

St. George hardly heard.
"It's like cutting into a great, smooth sheet of white paper," he
said whimsically, "and making any figure you want to make."
Before they reached the bottom of the steps they divined, issuing
from an isolated, temple-seeming building below, a train of
sober-liveried attendants, all at first glance resembling Jarvo and
Akko. These defiled leisurely toward the strangers and lined up
irregularly at the foot of the steps.
"Enter Trouble," said Amory happily.
They found themselves confronting, in the midst of the attendants,
an olive man with no angles, whose face, in spite of its health and
even wealth of contour, was ridiculously grave, as if the
_papier-mache_ man in the down-town window should have had a sudden
serious thought just before his _papier-mache_ incarnation.
"Permit me," said the man in perfect English and without bowing, "to
bring to you the greeting of his Highness, Prince Tabnit, and his
welcome to Yaque. I am Cassyrus, an officer of the government.


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