THE SIAMESE CAT
scene of drought, as though miraculously wet—the train jarred to a halt; set down from the happy third-class pens, little chattering village men and women, to file slowly away, gay-breeched in pink and yellow panungs, and bearing burdens erect on cropped heads; then jolted northward again in the growing glare. Sometimes they passed a wretched rain-pit of brown water, brightened by a half-dead lotus, where down clay-cut steps clambered the Rebekahs of a dozen thirsty hamlets; or passed a small oasis of wet mud, which the roar of the train frightened into an oozy upheaval, as a smeared and shining buffalo reared from his wallow, dripping clods, like some new-born beast in the Miltonic picture of Creation.
Chao Phya and the three travellers were all dozing, when Borkman called through the window:
"Your station, madam: Ayuthia."
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