“And that, Sahib, is the story,” sighed Ahmed.
“And Kathlyn gave the treasures to the poor of Allaha? That was fine.”
“You have said.”
“They should have hanged this Umballa.”
“No, Sahib. Death is grateful. It is not a punishment; it is peace. But Durga Ram, called Umballa, will spend the remainder of his days in the treadmill, which is a concrete hell, not abstract.”
“Do you think England will ever step in?”
“Perhaps. But so long as Pundita rules justly, so long as her consort abets her, England will not move. Perhaps, if one of them dies. . . . There! the maids are calling you. And I will go and brew the Colonel Sahib’s tea.”
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