Explore "Quicksands" by B.M. Croker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
After changing at two junctions, and a tedious but eventless journey, Kipper and I arrived in Bangalore, and drove off in a dusty, shuttered gharry to 202 Infantry Lines, the abode of Mrs. de Castro.
Bangalore itself lies chiefly around a maidan or parade ground about a mile long, bordered with a ride and trees, and encircled and traversed by the principal roads in the station. Parallel to the maidan are the infantry lines; they lie behind what once were infantry barracks, and are now commissariat stores. Formerly the bungalows were occupied by officers, but these quarters -- like the barracks -- have passed into a different use, and are rented by clerks, shopkeepers and railway subordinates. Number 202 was large and old and gloomy, situated in a small compound with two entrances, flanked by imposing gate piers, but there were no gates. The front of the bungalow was completely veiled by an enormous lattice-work porch, covered with flowering creepers -- wine-coloured bougainvillea and blue masses of "morning glory." The little drive was full of ruts, the steps up to the veranda were lined with many pots of caladiums and maidenhair; evidently these had been recently watered, for the first sensation I received, with respect to my new residence, was an all-pervading smell of wet earth.