It presented the delectable pastime of conspiring in two languages; for, from Bombay to Calcutta, from Peshawar to Madras, India seethes, conspires and takes an occasional pot shot at some poor devil of a commissioner whose only desire is to have them combine religion and sanitation.
"I am an American.

Please take me to the English commissioner." Somehow instinct told her that she might not expect succor from this man with the pearls about his gross neck.
"I regret that his excellency the commissioner has gone to Bombay.
Besides, I do not know that you tell the truth.

Still, I can offer you what pearls and emeralds you may find to your liking." "Your Highness, there are those whose coming shortly will cause you much annoyance if you refuse to give me proper aid.

There is no possible way for you to cover up my appearance here.

Send me to the commissioner's bungalow, where I may await the coming of my friends." "Indeed!" The Kumor saw here a conflict not altogether to his liking.
He was lazy, and there was the damnable, unrelenting hand of the British Raj looming in the distance.