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Updated: May 6, 2025
It's a heathen custom. Give me the big bag. Bride slips out quietly into 'rickshaw and departs towards the sunset. So much, the worse for Gaddy! Here he is. Now Gaddy, this'll be livelier than Amdheran! Where's your horse? CAPT. M. Half-way to Mahasu by this time. You'll have to ride like Young Lochinvar. Horse comes round on his hind legs; refuses to let G. handle him.
MRS. G. We're the only two sensible people in the world! Ask the eagle. He's coming by. CAPT. G. Ah! I dare say he's seen a good many sensible people at Mahasu. They say that those birds live for ever so long. MRS. G. How long? CAPT. G. A hundred and twenty years. MRS. G. A hundred and twenty years! O-oh! And in a hundred and twenty years where will these two sensible people be?
Left wondering. And ye shall be as Gods! SCENE. Thymy grass-plot at back of the Mahasu dak-bungalow, overlooking little wooded valley. On the left, glimpse of the Dead Forest of Fagoo; on the right, Simla Hills. In background, line of the Snows. CAPTAIN GADSBY, now three weeks a husband, is smoking the pipe of peace on a rug in the sunshine. Banjo and tobacco-pouch on rug.
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