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 bent forward at the sweep—to break the green reflection with a curved long-bow of ripples. It was the season of the mango showers, and the breeze came heavy with perfume from yellow-burgeoning acacias. On the lower deck, Chinamen sluiced their sallow bodies with muddy water; soft-eyed Cingalese thrust in their round-combs; Malays knotted their bright sarongs for another day.

"All these will be scattering into Siam," said Miss Holborow. "Isn't it fun guessing where people come from and go to, out here? The East is a wonderful kaleidoscope in that way, I think—always changing, pictures, pictures, appearing, melting.… Do you know, sometimes I'm a little afraid of it."

"I know," said Scarlett, and was silent. Eight years of China had left him little fun in that sort of guessing. At Bangkok, all these