"Tuesday. But make a picture for me."
"Well, you gave your word not to photograph or sketch - as if one
wanted to when every bit of it is stamped on one's brain! And you
went up to Jumrood Fort at the entrance. Did they tell you it is
an old Sikh Fort and has been on duty in that turbulent place for
five hundred years And did you see the machine guns in the court?
And every one armed - even the boys with belts of cartridges?
Then you went up the narrow winding track between the mountains,
and you said to yourself, 'This is the road of pure romance. It
goes up to silken Samarkhand, and I can ride to Bokhara of the
beautiful women and to all the dreams. Am I alive and is it
real?' You felt that?"
"All. Every bit. Go on!"
She smiled with pleasure.
"And you saw the little forts on the crags and the men on guard
all along the bills, rifles ready! You could hear the guns rattle
as they saluted. Do you know that up there men plough with rifles
loaded beside them? They have to be men indeed."
"Do you mean to imply that we are not men?"
"Different men at least.
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