India 2001 books

Dr. Ob gesticulated wildly, and pulled up the motor to gather in a
Frenchman--somebody in the French legation who was going to Scutari for
a week end. He turned suddenly to Jan.
"Ce n'est pas une vie, monsieur," were the first words he uttered. He
admired Miss Petrovitch very much, and told us in an undertone that she
was a daughter of the governor of Scutari, niece of the King of
Montenegro, and one of "les familles le plus chic."
We descended steeply to the Port, ten variously coloured houses and
twenty-five variously clothed people. Miss Petrovitch, to our amazement,
embraced a rather dirty old peasant, the doctor disappeared to find us
luncheon, the Frenchman to wash, and we strolled about.
A voice hailed us, and turning round, we found our mackintoshed American
of Pod. We took him to the inn and stood him a drink. Dr. Ob came in and
we introduced; but Dr. Ob was snifty and the American shy. His home was
near by and he wished us to visit him, but there was no time.
We lunched in a bedroom plastered with pictures.


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