It was mid-January, and at home in England the ground was white withsnow, but the sun shone down with brazen glare on the blue waters of theBay of Bengal, along which a P and O steamer was gliding on its homewardway. An awning was hoisted over the deck, but not a breath of windfluttered its borders, and the passengers lay back in their deck-chairs toolimp and idle to do more than flick over the pages of the books which theywere pretending to read. It was only twenty-four hours since they had leftCalcutta, and they were still in that early stage of journeying when theylooked askance at their fellows, decided that never, no, never had Fateplaced them in the midst of such uninteresting companions, and determinedto keep severely to themselves during the rest of the voyage.
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