Page:The Post Office (Tagore).djvu/68

64 No, you don't; you squat there and make friends with the whole lot of people round here, old and young, as if they are holding a fair right under my eaves flesh and blood won't stand that strain. Just see your face is quite pale.

Uncle, I fear my fakir'U pass and not see me by the window. Your fakir, whoever's that? He comes and chats to me of the many lands where he's been. I love to hear him.