Fully recovered, I resume my introduction to Calcutta life at the end of the week. Mr. Steele offers me the use of his open carriage so I can attend my first meeting of the Corresponding Board. No doubt they’ll defer to my judgment. Mr. Wilson rides with me.
“It seems the sun never stops shining in Calcutta,” I remark. “Day after day after day.”
“You’ll miss it when the rains come,” Mr. Wilson says with a knowing smile.
Peddlers trot alongside our carriage in various states of dress. They look like children and are painfully thin. They have all sorts of trinkets, shell necklaces, small idols. I don’t like being surrounded.
“Away with you!” I shout.
The peddlers keep offering ribbons, shells. One has birds in a cage. A few even have small snakes in baskets.
“Mr. Wilson, I implore you. Get rid of them.”
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