I can sit outside it in the early morning, but as the sun gets up Autolycus summons the chuprassis, and they carry my table and writing-materials to the verandah of the Guest House, which has a cool, not to say clammy and tomb-like, atmosphere. My chief trials are the insects. There is a kind of large black beetle with wings that has a strange habit of poising itself just above my head and remaining there. Someone told me—who I forget; anyway, Boggley says it isn't true, but it seems quite likely—that if these beetles drop on you they explode. Did you ever hear of anything quite so horrible? I keep a wary eye on them and shift my seat at their approach.
Not a hundred yards away a heathen temple stands, with its gilded roof shining in the sun. We tried to go inside it the other day, but an angel with a flaming sword, in the shape of a fakir, kept us out. It didn't look very attractive. We saw enough when we beheld the post the poor kids and goats are tied to, all messy and horrid from the last sacrifice. The priest who forbade us to enter, just to show there was no ill-feeling, hung wreaths of marigolds round our necks. Boggley, once we were out of sight, hid his in the ditch; but I, afraid they might find out and be offended, went about
