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Chapter Six. Death in the Rain |
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(56) I returned to Wakching and settled down to my work among the Konyaks and to the incessant boredom of rain, rain, rain. For days and days it would pour down in dreary sheets, and then, without any warning, the wind would rush up the valley and the rain would rattle down on the tin roof of my bungalow. To live in a tent in this weather would have been hell, and I fully understood why Mills had warned me against touring before the end of September. As long as there is an average rainfall of one inch a day, when you often do not see the sun for three or four days at a time, there is little to be done but stay where you have a solid roof over your head. |
