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Slowly rolled to Tallantire's feet the crop-haired head of a spectacled Bengali gentleman, open-eyed, open-mouthed the head of Terror incarnate. Bullows bent down. 'Yet another blood-fine and a heavy one, Khoda Dad Khan, for this is the head of Debendra Nath, the man's brother. The Babu is safe long since. All but the fools of the Khusru Kheyl know that. 'Well, I care not for carrion.
The litter-men sought for fuel in the waste-dried camel- thorn and refuse of the camps that had waited at the ford. Their sword- belts clinked as they moved softly in the haze of the moonlight, and Tallantire's horse coughed to explain that he would like a blanket. 'I'm cold too, said the voice from the litter. 'I fancy this is the end. Poor Polly! Tallantire rearranged the blankets.
'Would you have cared for a transfer? said Bullows keenly. Then, laying his hand on Tallantire's shoulder: 'We're all in the same boat; don't desert us. And yet, why the devil should you stay, if you can get another charge? 'It was Orde's, said Tallantire simply. 'Well, it's De's now.
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