No help there, no guidance.
"Is the life of a decrepit old man," asked Lal Singh, "worth the lives of these white people who love and respect you ?" Pundita rose and placed her hands upon her husband's shoulders.
"We owe them our lives.

Strike, Ramabai; but only if our need demands it." "Good!" said Lal Singh.

"I'm off for the bazaars for the night.

I will buy chupatties and pass them about, as they did in my father's time at Delhi, in the Great Mutiny." And he vanished.
Have you ever witnessed the swarming of bees?
Have you ever heard the hum and buzz of them?
So looked and sounded the bazaars that night.
At every intersection of streets and passages there were groups, buzzing and gesticulating.

In the gutters the cocoanut oil lamps flickered, throwing weird shadows upon the walls; and squatting about these lamps the fruit sellers and candy sellers and cobblers and tailors jabbered and droned.