Summary

O. Douglas Olivia in India — PART III (1922)

The weather is beginning to stoke-up, as Boggley calls it, and during the day the tent is insufferable. I can sit outside it in the early morning, but as the sun gets up Autolycus summons the chuprassis, and they carry my table and writing-materials to the verandah of the Guest House, which has a cool, not to say clammy and tomb-like, atmosphere. My chief trials are the insects. There is a land of large black beetle with wings that has a strange habit of poising itself just above my head and remaining there.
Source: Wikisource

O. Douglas Olivia in India — PART III (1922)

When Boggley finished I was silent, remembering the little chintz-covered chair—empty but for a broken doll.
Now that I have tasted the joys of solitude I don't see how I am to enjoy living in a crowd again. I am practically alone all day, for Boggley has long distances to ride and bicycle—and I never was so happy in my life, I write, and I read, and I fold my hands in newly acquired Oriental calm (which my bustling, busy little mother most certainly won't admire) , and sit looking before me for hours.
Source: Wikisource

O. Douglas Olivia in India — PART III (1922)

We left Takai on Wednesday, I in my old friend the doolie, Boggley on his bicycle. It is wonderful where a bicycle can go in India.
I was much sorrier to leave Takai than I thought I should be, and I think they were a little sorry to see me go. Even the missionary ladies unbent so far as to say they would miss my bright face and merry chatter. How differently people describe things! Bright and merry are hardly the adjectives I should have applied to my soulful countenance and brilliant conversation; but no matter. They all stood on the verandah to watch us go.
Source: Wikisource

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