Caste by W. A. Fraser
page 81 of 259 (31%)
page 81 of 259 (31%)
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"What is it, Bootea?" Barlow asked.
The eyes raised to his face were full of fright, a pleading fright. "Sahib," she answered, "do not ask--just go, because--" "Yes, girl, why?" "That this is dead (and her hand gestured toward the slain Bagree) and that others are dead, is; but you,--will you mount the horse and go back the way you came, Sahib?" Her small fingers clutched the sleeve of the coat he wore--it was of hunting cloth, red-and-green: "Others are dead yonder, and evil is in the hearts of those that live. Go, Sahib--please go." Barlow's mind was racing fast, in more materialistic grooves than the Gulab's. There was something about it he didn't understand; something the girl did not want to tell him; some horrible thing that she was afraid of--her face was full of suppressed dread. Suddenly, through no sequence of reasoning, in fact there was no data to go upon, nothing except that a girl--the Gulab was just that--stood there afraid--through him she had just escaped from a man who was little more than an ape--stood quivering in the moonlight alone, except for himself. So, suddenly, he acted as if energised by logic, as if mental deduction made plain the way. "You are right," he said: "we must go." He laid a hand upon the bridle-rein of the grey, that had stood there |
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