In less
time almost than it takes me to write this, Pornic's body was divided, in some
unclear way or other; the men and women had dragged the fragments on to the
platform and were preparing their normal meal. Gunga Dass cooked mine. The
almost irresistible impulse to fly at the sand walls until I was wearied laid
hold of me afresh, and I had to struggle against it with all my might. Gunga
Dass was offensively jocular till I told him that if he addressed another
remark of any kind whatever to me I should strangle him where he sat. This
silenced him till silence became insupportable, and I bade him say something.
"You will live here till you die like the other Feringhi," he said, coolly,
watching me over the fragment of gristle that he was gnawing.
"What other Sahib, you swine? Speak at once, and don't stop to tell me a lie."
"He is over there," answered Gunga Dass, pointing to a burrow-mouth about four
doors ta the left of my own. "You can see for yourself. He died in the burrow
as you will die, and I will die, and as all these men and women and the one
child will also die."
"For pity's sake tell me all you know about him. Who was he? When did he come,
and when did he die?"
This appeal was a weak step on my part.
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