No one will look for my 'rickshaw.
Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that mauve and white 'cloud'
over my head, while the wet soaks into my dear, old, venerable feet and Tom
swears and shouts for the mem-sahib's gharri. Then home to bed at half-past
eleven! Truly excellent life helped out by the visits of the Padri, just fresh
from burying somebody down below there." She pointed through the pines, toward
the Cemetery, and continued with vigorous dramatic gesture--"Listen! I see it
all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight a pair, Polly, with
red flannel--or list is it?--that they put into the tops of those fearful
things. I can draw you a picture of them."
"Lucy, for Heaven's sake, don't go waving your arms about in that idiotic
manner! Recollect, every one can see you from the Mall."
"Let them see! They'll think I am rehearsing for The Fallen Angel. Look!
There's The Mussuck. How badly he rides. There!"
She blew a kiss to the venerable Indian administrator with infinite grace.
"Now," she continued, "he'll be chaffed about that at the Club in the delicate
manner those brutes of men affect, and the Hawley Boy will tell me all about
it--softening the details for fear of shocking me.
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