Explore "C. I. D" by Talbot Mundy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
"I need a new knife, sahib."
Chullunder Ghose sat in the dark cart, enjoying motion after days of sitting still and being talked to by ignorant villagers. It was slow motion; the big wheels sank deep in the mud and the horses paused at frequent intervals to gather strength; but the horses were as keen as the driver on reaching the journey's end, so they pulled their best. The silence--he enjoyed that also --was comparative; the important thing was that the driver made no conversation. Countless millions of frogs made such a din that he could hardly hear the splashing of the horses' hoofs or the squeak of an oil-less wheel. But none of those facts excused carelessness; the business of being "purposely misunderstood" demands unceasing and acute attention.