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down in the huts, probably to work up another conspiracy
to influence my speedy departure, and I felt
curiously aloof from all and everything that was not
part of the surrounding scene. The snows were sisters,
the moon’s soft radiance an especial protection, the past
had slipped away, the future could never be a reality,
silence, shadow, sadness, solitude, intense pleasure—
they were the sum of existence; all else were but the
whirling figures on. a stage called by its puny players
the world—something from which I was cut off remote.
The moon waned, the stars shone out relieved of the
burden of the brighter light, the dawn, with fine-drawn
net, drew them from the sky, and a light breeze whispered
that the sun would soon be back to take up again
his sovereignty and heal all dreamers with the touch
of his prosaic light. The night was passed, and a
servant with dismal whine proclaimed that food tor
breakfast there was none; the “ presence” must march
quickly to reach less “ jungly” places, or starvation
would be her lot. Even this threat did not produce
consternation; rice and “ kultchas” (native cakes made
of flour and ghi—oiled butter) are extremely satisfying,
and always to be obtained at native villages. I had
some tea, and when two eggs were also produced 1 felt
that pedestrian could not desire more.
I marched to Revel that day—further than I
intended, for I had told my men to stop at
Gagangair, as I wished to leave the direct way
at various points to , look for flowers, thereby
considerably lengthening the thirteen miles I found
the track a good deal easier than when I had come up
two days before, the snow being harder, the river less