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Kipling, Rudyard, 1865-1936

"From Mine Own People"


Next morning they smoked the after-breakfast pipe in the veranda, still
regarding each other curiously, Pagett, in a light grey frock-coat and
garments much too thin for the time of the year, and a puggried sun-hat
carefully and wonderfully made, Orde in a shooting coat, riding breeches,
brown cowhide boots with spurs, and a battered flax helmet. He had ridden some
miles in the early morning to inspect a doubtful river dam. The men's faces
differed as much as their attire. Orde's worn and wrinkled around the eyes,
and grizzled at the temples, was the harder and more square of the two, and it
was with something like envy that the owner looked at the comfortable outlines
of Pagett's blandly receptive countenance, the clear skin, the untroubled eye,
and the mobile, clean-shaved lips.
"And this is India!" said Pagett for the twentieth time staring long and
intently at the grey feathering of the tamarisks.
"One portion of India only. It's very much like this for 300 miles in every
direction. By the way, now that you have rested a little--I wouldn't ask the
old question before--what d'you think of the country?"
"'Tis the most pervasive country that ever yet was seen. I acquired several
pounds of your country coming up from Karachi.


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