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a web of many textures

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Well, what if they did?” said Mrs. Partington,
as the visitor was condemning certain parties for the
transportation of coolies. She glanced at the thermometer,
as she spoke, with the mercury indicating
ninety degrees, at the same time inhaling a pinch of
Col. Rhoades' rappee. “I think they ought to be
praised,” continued she, “for trying to get a little
coolly anywhere, such times as these. How hot it is,
to be sure! It is almost equal to the horrid zone;”
and the old lady fanned herself energetically. — “But,”
said her friend, “I mean the coolies, brought from the
East.” — “Well,” responded the dame, “it does seem
like an interference with the plans of Providence to
bring them here; but when the wind sticks at the
south all the time, they should n't be blamed for trying
to get the east winds to cool the people off with, anyhow.”
Her friend looked at her with compassionate
benignity, but attempted no further explanation, while
Ike sat endeavoring to make the sundered parts of the
old lady's cooler stick together, as he had seen Signor
Blitz do.