High above them, at the windows of the tall houses,
now tenanted in every floor by the dead, appeared a few figures (the
mercenary guardians of the dying within) bending forward to look out
upon the palace opposite--their haggard faces showing pale in the clear
moonlight. Sometimes their voices were heard calling in mockery to the
mass of people below to break down the strong steel gates of the palace,
and tear the full wine-cup from its master's lips. Sometimes those
beneath replied with execrations, which rose wildly mingled with the
wailing of women and children, the moans of the plague-stricken, and the
supplications of the famished to the slaves passing backwards and
forwards behind the palace railings for charity and help.
In the intervals, when the tumult of weak voices was partially lulled,
there was heard a dull, regular, beating sound, produced by those who
had found dry bones on their road to the palace, and were pounding them
on the pavement, in sheltered places, for food. The wind, which had
been refreshing during the day, had changed at sunset, and now swept up
slowly over the street in hot, faint gusts, plague-laden, from the East.
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