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So, seeing there was no help for it but violence, I drew out my
pistols, cocked them, and said, "O houris! these pistols contain
each two balls: the daughter of Holkar bears a sacred life for me-
-but for you!--by all the saints of Hindustan, four of ye shall die
if ye stay a moment longer in my presence!" This was enough; the
ladies gave a shriek, and skurried out of the apartment like a
covey of partridges on the wing.
Now, then, was the time for action. My wife, or rather Bobbachy's
wife, sat still, a little flurried by the unusual ferocity which
her lord had displayed in her presence. I seized her hand and,
gripping it close, whispered in her ear, to which I put the other
pistol:- "O Khanum, listen and scream not; the moment you scream,
you die!" She was completely beaten: she turned as pale as a
woman could in her situation, and said, "Speak, Bobbachy Bahawder,
I am dumb."
"Woman," said I, taking off my helmet, and removing the chain cape
which had covered almost the whole of my face--"I AM NOT THY
HUSBAND--I am the slayer of elephants, the world-renowned GAHAGAN!"
As I said this, and as the long ringlets of red hair fell over my
shoulders (contrasting strangely with my dyed face and beard), I
formed one of the finest pictures that can possibly be conceived,
and I recommend it as a subject to Mr. Heath, for the next "Book of
Beauty."
"Wretch!" said she, "what wouldst thou?"
"You black-faced fiend," said I, "raise but your voice, and you are
dead!"
"And afterwards," said she, "do you suppose that YOU can escape?
The torments of hell are not so terrible as the tortures that
Holkar will invent for thee."
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