It consisted of a quiet-mannered chairen and two soldiers, one of whom was an impudent cub that I had to treat with every indignity.

He was armed with a sword carried in the folds of his red cincture, in which was also concealed an old muzzle-loading pistol, formidable to look at but unloaded.

This was one of the days on my journey when I wished that I had brought a revolver, not as a defence in case of danger, for there was no danger, but as a menace on occasion of anger.
Rain fell continuously.

At a small village thronged with muleteers from Bhamo we took shelter for an hour.

The men sipping tea under the verandahs had seen Europeans in Bhamo, and my presence evoked no interest whatever.