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Douglas, O., 1877-1948

"Olivia in India"


Again we shouted for Sister, with no result.
You have no idea how horrible it was to lie there in the darkness and
listen to movements made by we knew not what. We felt bitterly towards
Sister Anna, never thinking of what her feelings would be if she came
confidingly to our help and was confronted by some fearsome animal.
"If only," said G., "we knew what time it was and when it will be
light. I can't _live_ like this long. Let go my arm, can't you?"
"I daren't," I said. "You're all I've got to hold on to."
We lay and listened, and we lay and listened, but the padding
footsteps didn't come back; and then I suppose we must have fallen
asleep, for the next thing we knew was that the _ayahs_ were standing
beside us with tea, and the miserable night was past.
G. and I looked at each other rather shamefacedly.
"Did we dream it?" I asked,
G. was rubbing her arm where I had gripped it.
"I didn't dream this, anyway," she said; "it's black and blue."
At breakfast we knew the bitterness of having our word doubted; no one
believed our report. They laughed at us and said we had dreamt it, or
that we had heard a mouse, and became so offensive in their unbelief
that G. and I rose from the table in a dignified way, and went out to
walk in the compound.
We are very busy collecting things to take home with us. (Did I
tell you G.'s berth had been booked in the ship I sail in--the
_Socotra_--it sails about the 23rd?) The _chicon-wallah_ came this
morning and spread his wares on the verandah floor--white rugs from
Kashmir, embroidered gaily in red and green and blue; tinsel mats and
table centres; pieces of soft bright silk; dainty white sewed work.


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