Page:The Post Office (Tagore).djvu/38

34 Suppose I march you off then? Where will you take me to? Is it very far, right beyond the hills?

Suppose I march you straight to the King?

To the King! Do, will you? But the doctor won't let me go out. No one can ever take me away. I've got to stay here all day long.

Doctor won't let you, poor fellow! So I see! Your face is pale and there are dark rings round your eyes. Your veins stick out from your poor thin hands.