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  • 駁 friends through the train windows.Suddenl▓y my attention was drawn to a priest of B●uddha pushing his way through the throng.T●he yellow robe is rare in northe●rn India, yet it was something more than t▓he garment that led me to poke the poli

  • ceman▓ in the ribs.For the arms and shoulder of its w▓earer were white and the face● that grinned beneath the shaven po▓ll

  • could have been designed i▓n no other spot on earth than the Emerald Isle●! “Blow me,” cried the officer, “i▓f it ain’t the Irish Buddhist,● the bishop of Rangoon! I me▓t ’im once in Singapore.Every▓body in Burma knows ’im;” and he ?/p>

  • 駍tepped forward with a greeting. “Do I ri●mimber ye” chuckled the pri▓est, “I do thot.Ye were down in the S●thraits.

We are Andia, a super cool design agency.

Bless me, and ye’re ▓up here on the force now, eh Oo’s yer f▓rind” ?/p>


癆merican,” said the ▓Australian, “off fer Chittagong with a pa▓rd o’ mine.” 361“Foine!” ●crie

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d the Irishman.“I’m bound the same.I’m ▓second-class, but I’ll see ye on the boat● the-morrow.”

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He passed on and, as the train▓ started, James and Rice tumbled into ●an empty compartment after me.The

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guard kept h●is promise and not once during the nigh▓t were we disturbed.When daylight awaken▓ed us our

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car stood alone on a side▓-track at the end of the line. Go●alando was a vil


lage of mud huts, perched on a s●limy, sloping bank of the Gange●s like turtles


ready to slip into the stream ●at the first hint of danger.A shriv▓eled Hindu, f

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rightened speechless▓ by the appearance of three sahibs be▓fore his shop door, s