Indeed, when she spoke to him, her voice seemed to me to resemble a kind of blissful purr.

I think it made the old boy rather fidgety sometimes, for after an hour or two of it he would rise and go to hunt for butterflies.
To tell the truth, the situation got a little on my nerves at last, for wherever I looked I seemed to see there Stephen and Hope making love to each other, or Brother John and his wife admiring each other, which didn't leave me much spare conversation.

Evidently they thought that Mavovo, Hans, Sammy, Bausi, Babemba and Co.

were enough for me--that is, if they reflected on the matter at all.

So they were, in a sense, for the Zulu hunters began to get out of hand in the midst of this idleness and plenty, eating too much, drinking too much native beer, smoking too much of the intoxicating _dakka_, a mischievous kind of help, and making too much love to the Mazitu women, which of course resulted in the usual rows that I had to settle.
At last I struck and said that we must move on as Stephen was now fit to travel.
"Quite so," said Brother John, mildly.