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Updated: May 18, 2025
It is rather damp and dreary, but that doesn't matter, for we leave again to-morrow morning. We have been to call this afternoon on the wife of the Collector, Mrs. Edston, a pretty woman with nice manners and a sweet voice. We had tea with her and saw her small son. Her bungalow interested me. It was only the second Mofussil bungalow I had seen.
Travelling in the mofussil in those days, as may be imagined, was not a pleasant and easy business. The Eastern Bengal Railway was only built as far as Kooshteah, and beyond that the traveller had to go by boat, bullock cart and palkigharry. Assam was quite cut off, and a journey up there was a serious undertaking.
"Have this for me to-night come to the bungalow at seven," he said. "And ... I shall probably not be at the office again for several days." "Insects?" enquired the clerk. "Insects," affirmed Mr. Labertouche gravely. "In the Mofussil?" "There or thereabouts, Frank." "Yes, sir. I presume you don't feel the need of a capable assistant yet?" "Not yet, Frank," said Labertouche kindly. "Be patient.
One more week and we start for the Mofussil and the Simple Life. The Mofussil, I may remark in passing, is not, as at first I thought, some sort of prophet, but means simply the country districts. I have been standing over Bella while she laid out all my dresses, telling her which are to be packed carefully and left in Calcutta, and which are to accompany me.
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