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Updated: June 1, 2025
Wimple's house, at Mill-Pond Bank, Chink's Basin, Old Green Copper Rope Walk; where lived old Bill Barley and his daughter Clara, and where Magwitch was hidden. It was the dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together in a dark corner as a club for tomcats.
The Chink's Head was a name the beach-combers gave to a wretched inn off the Rue Bouterie, kept by a one-eyed Chinaman, where for six sous you could sleep in a cot and for three on the floor.
"Never knew him say a cross word," answered the Captain. "He'd be a bit surly sometimes, but when we hadn't had a bite since morning, and we hadn't even got the price of a lie down at the Chink's, he'd be as lively as a cricket." I was not surprised at this.
They don't speak, I've noticed." "No, they don't. But that Chink's little ways are apt to be indirect. She's afraid of him afraid of the dust under her feet, as you might say." Stires puffed meditatively at his pipe. Then a piratical-looking customer intervened, and I left. Leisurely, all this, and not significant to the unpeeled eye.
"I guess you'd better get out of Marseilles before Tough Bill comes out of hospital," he said to Strickland, when they had got back to the Chink's Head and were cleaning themselves. "This beats cock-fighting," said Strickland. I could see his sardonic smile. Captain Nichols was anxious. He knew Tough Bill's vindictiveness.
Listen: "'Back he comes to me to-night, complaining he's being watched. He claims the has got the evil eye. Says he can see you through a two-inch bulkhead, and the like. The Chink's laying in his bunk, turned the other way. "Why don't you go aboard of him," says I. The Dutcher says nothing, but goes over to his own bunk and feels under the straw. When he comes back he's looking queer.
That's funny that you an' me should both do it, Andy. But why the hell did you do it?" "Oh, it's too long to tell here. Come up to my. room." "There may be fellers there. Ever been at the Chink's?" "No." "I'm stayin' there. There're other fellers who's A.W. O.L. too. The Chink's got a gin mill." "Where is it." "Eight, rew day Petee Jardings." "Where's that?"
"Now I was jest goin' to," mumbled Jimmie Time; and he amazingly slunk from the scene of his late triumphs toward the open front of a woodhouse. His insulter turned back to the kitchen with a final affronting flourish of the towel. The whisper of Boogles came hoarsely to me: "Some of these days Little Sure Shot'll put a dose o' cold lead through that Chink's heart." "Is he really dangerous?"
"We got a camp just out of town. We eat at the Chink's when we're heah, an' thet's every few days. We got lots of room an' welcome for you, but no bedroll." "I'll buy an outfit in the morning and throw in with you.... Hello, there's shooting. Gun play. Let's get out of this place where there's more room and air."
Dick desires your inglorious company, I'll hand you forthwith over to the pound-keeper with instructions not to waste his chloroform, but to drown the whole litter in a bag." "Oh, well!" said the spokesman, "I'd just as soon eat the chink's cookin', if it's good." "Me, too," said a follower, meek as a lamb. A number echoed "Me, too." One added: "We was just having a little bit of fun."
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