India 2001 books

We soothed ourselves with "American" grapes.
This grape tastes not unlike strawberries and cream, but not having the
same sentimental associations, does not come off quite as well. We heard
a motor coming. Dr. Ob ran out to intercept it. It was crammed. Then
the telephone boy brought a message that Prince Peter's motor would not
return till to-morrow.
Miss Petrovitch wrung her hands.
"We cannot stay here the night," she said.
"Are the bugs awful?" we asked.
"It's not the bugs, it's those dreadful women," she answered. "We shall
all be murdered in our beds."
Now the women appeared to us most inoffensive.
Dr. Ob was purple with rage. He stamped his foot.
"But I am a minister," he kept repeating crescendo, till he shouted to
the villagers, "But I am a minister."
It is impossible to take Montenegro seriously. Situations occur at every
corner which remind one irresistibly of "the Rose and the Ring," and we
wondered what would happen next. There were other belated passengers who
had hoped for conveyance, and the Frenchman's carriage had not turned
up.


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