I had resented Dufferin's slap.
We had spiced hump and jungle-fowl and a Normandy cheese, everybody will understand that; but how shall I make plain with what exultation and simplicity we ate and drank, how the four candid selves of us sat around the table in a cloud of tobacco and cheered each other on, Armour always far in front turning handsprings as he went.

Scraps come back to me, but the whole queer night has receded and taken its place among those dreams that insist at times upon having been realities.

Rosario told us stories Kipling might have coveted of the under life of Port Said.

Strobo talked with glorious gusto of his uncle the brigand.

They were liberated men; we were all liberated men.