It Was Surely Enough To Try The Patience Of A Saint, For
The Old Imbecile Had Deliberately Walked Down To The River, Made
A Hole In The Ice, And Soaked The Garment In Water To The Waist,
Reducing It To Its Former Condition Of Liquid Slime.
This was _his_
method of getting the mud off.
I may add that this intelligent
official had _assisted me in the drying process up till midnight_.
There was no help for it; nothing to be done but cut off the damaged
portion from the waist to the heels - no easy matter, for it was frozen
as stiff as a board. "It will make a better riding-jacket now," said
Gerome, consolingly; "but this son of a pig shall not gain by it," he
added, stamping the ruined remains into the now expiring fire.
The village of Patchinar, at the foot of the dreaded Kharzan Pass, was
to be our halting-place for the night. The post-road, after leaving
Rustemabad, leads through the valley of the Sefid Roud river, in
which, by the way, there is excellent salmon-fishing. About six miles
from Rustemabad is a spot called by the natives the "Castle of the
Winds," on account of the high winds that, even in the calmest
weather, prevail there. Although, out on the plain, there was a
scarcely perceptible breeze, we had to literally fight our way against
the terrific gusts that swept through this narrow gorge. Fortunately,
it was a fine day, but the fine powdery snow whirled up and cut into
our eyes and faces, and made travelling very unpleasant.
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