‘Is not this a curious life for me? What a contrast Batala is to Marylebone! But I stand up for Batala. This is a capital house, in spite of rats. You should see Florrie and me in our tam-tam driving along kachcha roads,[58] the odd-looking conveyance plunging up and down or from side to side, like a boat on a rough sea. Or fancy me seated in my red duli starting for the city. I remember how I looked on the picture of such a red duli, painted on talc, and pitied native ladies for having to travel in a box. It really, however, is not bad, and it is the only practicable conveyance for the narrow streets of Batala.’