Explore "C. I. D" by Talbot Mundy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"This is from the fat babu who ate your dinner."
Across the border, five hundred yards from the railway station, in a corrugated iron barn that faced a yard at the back of the Sikh's dispensary, by the light of a gasolene lantern Stanley Copeland labored and forgot the weather. Rain drove in between the joints of the iron walls and drummed on the iron roof. Sometimes the lantern blew out at critical moments and the Sikh had to come to the rescue with his flashlight. The operating table was a thing of planks and trestles that had to be scrubbed at intervals with soap and water. There was a very slim supply of anaesthetics, and the Sikh was ignorant as well as nervous, although willing. There were no nurses--no trained help whatever.