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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"

So far as I could gather, it had been in existence
from time immemorial--whence I concluded that it was at least a century old--
and during that time no one had ever been known to escape from it. [I had to
control myself here with both hands, lest the blind terror should lay hold of
me a second time and drive me raving round the crater.] Gunga Dass took a
malicious pleasure in emphasizing this point and in watching me wince. Nothing
that I could do would induce him to tell me who the mysterious "They" were.
"It is so ordered," he would reply, "and I do not yet know any one who has
disobeyed the orders."
"Only wait till my servants find that I am missing," I retorted, "and I
promise you that this place shall be cleared off the face of the earth, and
I'll give you a lesson in civility, too, my friend."
"Your servants would be torn in pieces before they came near this place; and,
besides, you are dead, my dear friend. It is not your fault, of course, but
none the less you are dead and buried."
At irregular intervals supplies of food, I was told, were dropped down from
the land side into the amphitheatre, and the inhabitants fought for them like
wild beasts. When a man felt his death coming on he retreated to his lair and
died there.


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