Explore "Quicksands" by B.M. Croker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
After the departure of Ronnie I sat as if stunned; possibly I could not have felt more utterly wretched had he been dead. Indeed, it almost seemed to me as if there were an element of death in the bungalow, such was the silence. Not a sound to be heard, except the dripping of a tap and a casual lizard pattering on the matting; all the servants (and other people's servants) were collected in our cookhouse, discussing the catastrophe. As a rule the usual daily routine is carried on, no matter what trouble overtakes a household, and presently I saw the butler preparing breakfast in the dining-room. Then he came to the door, salaamed with both hands, and said:
"Please, missie, to come and take something. Last night missie no dinner having; missie will be sick, and that plenty bad business for everyone."