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I got down there, and was looking over the cart to see that everything was right, when a little half-caste keranie, a sort of low-class clerk, came up behind me and began talking to me in a mysterious kind of way, in that vile chi-chi accent one gets to hate so awfully. "Look here, Sar," he said, "you take my car, Sar; it built for racing.
Shurochka, where are you? Come here, my mother; cannot you sit still a moment? And I have a headache myself. It must be that singing which has given me it, and the music." "What singing, aunt?" "What? don't you know? They have already begun what do you call them? duets down there. And all in Italian chi-chi and cha-cha regular magpies.
And all in Italian: chi-chi and cha-cha like magpies for all the world with their long drawn-out notes as if they'd pull your very soul out. That's Panshin, and your wife too. And how quickly everything was settled; just as though it were all among relations, without ceremony. However, one may well say, even a dog will try to find a home; and won't be lost so long as folks don't drive it out."
DOONE. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months and the same with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms. MACKESY. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be little Dehra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie chi-chi anent to bring home for the holidays.