Book by Inman Herbert
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Indian midsummer can be, and all who could had betaken themselves to the hills to enjoy the delicious coolness of the higher altitudes ;while their more unfortunate friends who were compelled by duty or business to remain in the city grumbled, perspired, and cast envious thoughts after those who were escaping the martyrdom of the fierce heat, untempered with cooling breezes. On the marble of palaces and mosques, on the white walls of the cantonments, and the huts of the native lines, on the shops in Silver and Queen Streets, and the bungalows clustering round, on bank and native bazaar, those fierce rays poured ;and excepting for the unhappy sentinels perspiring at their posts, the ancient city of Delhi seemed as deserted as a city of the dead. And only when the moon arose, and the wind came whispering across the Jumna, did it assume a more animated appearance. Then did the lights gleam from bungalow and mansion, and the sounds of music, song, and laughter break upon the ear. Then Delhi woke up, and prepared to enjoy itself after its several fashions, with dinners, games, and all manner of social functions.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)
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