Explore "My Kaffir" by John Arthur Barry on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was dark on the third day when we drove up to a comfortable-looking stone house, and received a warm welcome from Mary, who, I fancied, seemed more than merely pleased to see me.
When I rose in the morning and went out for an early smoke, the first object to catch my eye, just outside the garden fence of smart, white-painted palings, was the koppie--the identical stony, flat-topped hill of that long-ago trek.