We were pleasantly situated in a small two-storied inn, in an empty large
compound which was surrounded by a mud wall as high as a man's head. The
inn was kept by nine Hindoo brothers, its owners. They lived, with their
families, in a one-storied building within the compound, but off to one
side, and there was always a long pile of their little comely brown
children loosely stacked in its veranda, and a detachment of the parents
wedged among them, smoking the hookah or the howdah, or whatever they
call it. By the veranda stood a palm, and a monkey lived in it, and led
a lonesome life, and always looked sad and weary, and the crows bothered
him a good deal.
The inn cow poked about the compound and emphasized the secluded and
country air of the place, and there was a dog of no particular breed, who
was always present in the compound, and always asleep, always stretched
out baking in the sun and adding to the deep tranquility and
reposefulness of the place, when the crows were away on business.
White-draperied servants were coming and going all the time, but they
seemed only spirits, for their feet were bare and made no sound.
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