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Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion), 1854-1909

"Mr. Isaacs"

There
he is now, with his pockets full of snakes and evil beasts. I wanted him
to catch a golden eagle this morning, and tame it for Miss Westonhaugh,
but he said it would eat the jackal and probably the servants, so I have
given it up for the present." Isaacs was evidently in a capital humour.
Ram Lal approached us.
I saw at a glance that Ram Lal the Buddhist, when on his beats in the
civilisation of Simla, was one person. Ram Lal, the cultured votary of
science, among the hills and the beasts and the specimens that he loved,
was a very different man. He was as gray as ever, it is true, but better
defined, the outlines sharper, the features more Dantesque and easier to
discern in the broad light of the sun. He did not look now as if he
could sit down and cross his legs and fade away into thin air, like the
Cheshire cat. He looked more solid and fleshly, his voice was fuller,
and sounded close to me as he spoke, without a shadow of the curious
distant ring I had noticed before.
"Ah!" he said in English, "Mr. Griggs, at last! Well, you are in plenty
of time. The gentleman who is not easily astonished. That is just as
well, too. I like people with quiet nerves. I see by your appearance
that you are hungry, Mr. Griggs. Abdul Hafiz, why should we not dine? It
is much better to get that infliction of the flesh over before this
evening.


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