That I can see.

But I do not know that other.

He marches well, though.' The first freshness of the day carried the lama forward with long, easy, camel-like strides.

He was deep in meditation, mechanically clicking his rosary.
They followed the rutted and worn country road that wound across the flat between the great dark-green mango-groves, the line of the snowcapped Himalayas faint to the eastward.

All India was at work in the fields, to the creaking of well-wheels, the shouting of ploughmen behind their cattle, and the clamour of the crows.