Now, a caste-mark on thy forehead.' He drew from his bosom the little Survey paint-box and a cake of crimson lake.
'Art thou only a beginner ?' said E23, labouring literally for the dear life, as he slid out of his body-wrappings and stood clear in the loin-cloth while Kim splashed in a noble caste-mark on the ash-smeared brow.
'But two days entered to the Game, brother,' Kim replied.

'Smear more ash on the bosom.' 'Hast thou met--a physician of sick pearls ?' He switched out his long, tight-rolled turban-cloth and, with swiftest hands, rolled it over and under about his loins into the intricate devices of a Saddhu's cincture.
'Hah! Dost thou know his touch, then?
He was my teacher for a while.
We must bar thy legs.

Ash cures wounds.

Smear it again.' 'I was his pride once, but thou art almost better.

The Gods are kind to us! Give me that.' It was a tin box of opium pills among the rubbish of the Jat's bundle.
E23 gulped down a half handful.