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‘And oh, aunt, such an interesting thing! A Burmese girl came on to the veranda. I’d never seen one
before, at least, not knowing they were girls. Such a queer little thing–she was almost like a doll with
her round yellow face and her black hair screwed up on top. She only looked about seventeen. Mr
Flory said she was his laundress.’
The Indian butler’s long body stiffened. He squinted down at the girl with his white eyeballs large
in his black face. He spoke English well. Mr Lackersteen paused with a forkful of fish half-way from
his plate and his crass mouth open.
‘Laundress?’ he said. ‘Laundress! I say, dammit, some mistake there! No such thing as a laundress
in this country, y’know. Laundering work’s all done by men. If you ask me ——’
And then he stopped very suddenly, almost as though someone had trodden on his toe under the
table.