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Rh we enjoyed looking at the other passengers, speculating as to who and what they were.

Almost directly after breakfast our people had to go, and G. and I, very stricken, watched the launch as it steamed up the river till lost to sight behind a big vessel. Since then, except for an interval in the cabin to get our eyes bathed into decency, we have sat on deck with aching heads, trying to read and write. At first the heat was terrible. We drooped like candles in the sun, we wilted like flowers, and G. gasped, "If all the voyage is going to be as hot as this, I'm done." Limp and wretched, I agreed with her. Then we found we had put our chairs against the kitchen, which is up on deck in this ship.

No wonder we were warm! We quickly found a cooler spot, and I have been writing a long letter to Boggley to send off with the pilot. Isn't he pure gold, my Boggley? I know that you too ' [sic]think nobly of the soul." He will be home in a year, and I am trying to tell myself that a year isn't long. Well, the Indian trip is over, and I have seen a lot, learned a few things, and made some friends—best of them my faithful G. It is rather astonishing that I should have the joy of her company home again. Many people, I am sure, ex-