Summary

Portrait of Harold Lamb Harold Lamb The Camp of the Snake — Chapter 3 (1924)

To the white men who dwell within her northern borders India is a riddle, ages old. The fascination of this—" he swept a thin hand around at the carriage windows—"gets under our skin in time. Some of us learn a very few of the mysteries, and try to forget what we know."
Moorcroft leaned forward to touch my knee, and I felt like pulling away from him.
"Mr. Smith," he said, "God help the white man who yields to the lure of the mysteries. He becomes a slave more dangerous than a drug maddened Malay."
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Harold Lamb Harold Lamb The Camp of the Snake — Chapter 3 (1924)

Going back to my bunk I got out my pipe. "Let's hear it."
"That pahari could have knifed you, before or after you foolishly displayed a weapon."
"Was he a thief?"
"Most men are." Moorcroft's yellow face seemed to grow sharper as he looked at me. "We Anglo-Saxons pride ourselves on our respectability, and yet for generations we've been rambling around the world breaking open graves and carting away shrines out of Asia to sell, or set up in some dismal museum in London or Chicago. Yes, that pahari is a thief and the son of a thug.
Source: Wikisource

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