“Yes.”
“My missus then telling her, please, that plenty bad place—oh, so bad! No one living there this many years.”
“Why—what is it?”
“I not never knowing, only the one word—bad. Oh, my missus! you speak, never letting these pretty little children go there——”
“But other people have lived there, Mary——”
“Never long—so people telling—the house man paint bungalow all so nice—same like now—they make great bargain—so pleased. One day they go away, away, away, never coming back. Please, please,” and she stooped and kissed my hand, “speak that master, tell him—bad bungalow.”
Of course I pooh-poohed the subject to Mary, who actually wept, good kind creature, and as she did my hair had constantly to dry her eyes on her saree.
And, knowing how futile a word to Tom would prove, I once more attacked Netta. I said, “Netta, I’m sure you think I’m an ignorant, superstitious imbecile, but I believe in presentiments. I have a presentiment, dear, about that Bungalow—do give it up to please and, yes, comfort me——”
“What! my beautiful find—the best house in Kulu—my bargain?”
“You may find it a dear bargain!”