You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was
speaking
of.
Kipling - Poems
Curtiss. What's wrong with you? You haven't eighty rotting Tommies to
take into a running stream.
Doone. No: but I'm mixed boils and bad language. I'm a regular Job all
over my body. It's sheer poverty of blood, and I don't see any chance of
getting richer--either way.
Blayne. Can't you take leave?
Doone. That's the pull you Army men have over us. Ten days are nothing
in your sight. I'm so important that Government can't find a substitute
if I go away. Ye-es, I'd like to be Gadsby, whoever his wife may be.
Curtiss.
You've passed the turn of life that Mackesy was speaking of.
Doone. Indeed I have, but I never yet had the brutality to ask a woman
to share my life out here.
Blayne. On my soul I believe you're right. I'm thinking of Mrs. Cockley.
The woman's an absolute wreck.
Doone. Exactly. Because she stays down here. The only way to keep her
fit would be to send her to the Hills for eight months--and the same
with any woman. I fancy I see myself taking a wife on those terms.
Mackesy. With the rupee at one and sixpence. The little Doones would be
little Debra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie @chi-chi anent to bring home
for the holidays.
