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Updated: June 10, 2025
The girl Eveleen came in sight, loitering and looking, kicking her idle heels. Kiomi turned sharp round to me. 'I'm going. Your father's here, up at Bulsted. I'll see him. He won't tell. He'll come soon. You'll be fit to walk in a day. You're sound as a nail.
Kiomi's eyes lightened, and her lips twitched; she coloured like the roofing smoke of the tent fire; twice she showed her teeth, as in a spasm, struck to the heart, unable to speak, breathing in and out of a bitterly disjoined mouth. Eveleen ran. I guessed at the ill-word spoken. Kiomi sat eyeing the wood-ashes, a devouring gaze that shot straight and read but one thing.
I beheld the girl actually squaring at me. 'Fight away, I said, to conceal my shame, and imagining I could slip from her hits as easily as the prizefighter did from big William's. I was mistaken. 'Oh! you think I can't defend myself, said Kiomi; and rushed in with one, two, quick as a cat, and cool as a statue. 'Fight, my merry one; she takes punishment, the prizefighter sang out.
I had to swear I would not. 'He! cried Kiomi. 'He may forget us when he's gone, the mother said. She would have liked me to kiss a book to seal the oath.
The girl Eveleen came in sight, loitering and looking, kicking her idle heels. Kiomi turned sharp round to me. 'I'm going. Your father's here, up at Bulsted. I'll see him. He won't tell. He'll come soon. You'll be fit to walk in a day. You're sound as a nail.
My father talked of Turkey, so I learnt he had been in that country; Temple of the routine of our life at Riversley; I of Kiomi, the gipsy girl; then we two of Captain Jasper Welsh; my father of the Princess Ottilia. When I alluded to the margravine, he had a word to say of Mrs. Waddy; so I learnt she had been in continual correspondence with him, and had cried heavily about me, poor soul.
He and I met Kiomi on the road to the race-course on the Southdowns; the prettiest racecourse in England, shut against gipsies. A bare-footed swarthy girl ran beside our carriage and tossed us flowers.
By-the-by, this charming play might be revived now that there is a revived interest in Romany matters. George Meredith’s wonderful ‘Kiomi’ was a picture, I think, of the only Romany chi he knew; but genius such as his needs little straw for the making of bricks.
Reflecting on it, I felt sure there must have been searching parties over the heath. 'Kiomi, I say, how was it they missed me? She struck at once on my thought. 'They're fools. 'How did you cheat them? 'I didn't tie a handkercher across their eyes. 'You half smothered me once, in the combe. 'You go to sleep. 'Have you been doctor?
Her people had some quarrel with the Durstan villagers, and she feared the scandal of being pelted on the way to the church. I knew that nothing of the sort would happen if I was present. Kiomi walked humbly with her head bent, leaving me the thick rippling coarse black locks of her hair for a mark of observation. We were entertained at her camp in the afternoon.
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