fever last night from sleeping in a swamp. And the worst of it is,
one can't do anything to a roof till the Rains are over.

CURTISS. What's wrong with you? You haven't eighty rotting
Tommies to take into a running stream.

DONE. No: but I'm mixed boils and bad language. I'm a regular
Job all over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see
any chance of getting richer-either way.

BLAYNE. Can't you take leave? DONE. That's the pull you Army
men have over us. Ten days are nothing in your sight. I'm so
important that Government can't find a substitute if I go away.
Ye-es, I'd like to be Gandy, whoever his wife may be.

CURTISS. You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was
speaking of.

DONE. Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a
woman to share my life out here.

BLAvNE. On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs.
Cockley. The woman's an absolute wreck.

DONE. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to
keep her fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months-and
the same with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on
those terms.

MACKESY. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little