It happened that in Bombay circumstances to bring the crude facts of enslavement before me. I found a vigorous raging in the English press against the horrible sweating that was going on in the cotton mills, I met the journalist most intimately concerned in the business on my second day in India, and before a week was out I was hard at work getting up the question and preparing a with him on the possibility of . The very name of Bombay, which for most people recalls a and landfall, lateen sails, green islands and , a long city of trees and buildings like a bright and various breakwater between the great harbor and the sea, and then little temples, painted bullock carriages, Towers of Silence, Parsis, and an amazingly population,—is for me a of narrow, fœtid, plague-stricken streets and tall insanitary tenement-houses packed and dripping with humanity, and of terrible factories working far into the night, blazing with electric light against the velvet-black night-sky of India, damp with the steam-clouds that are maintained to moisten the thread, and with overworked brown children—for even the adults, spare and small, in those mills seem children to a western eye.  
I into this heated dreadful business with a interest and went back to the Yacht Club only when the for air and a good bath and clean clothes and space and respect became unendurable. I deep in labor, in this process of consuming humanity for gain, chasing my ............