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[[preprinted]] Saturday, April 10, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

The local Hindis gave a reception to Turnbull of the Bank this afternoon. One of 'em got up and read a hell of a [[strikethrough]] [[?]][[strikethrough]] kilali, and pinned medals of speech all over Turnbull. They they put it into a silver roll, hung a bunch of flowers around his neck, and presented the kilali with great ceremony. A man must feel like a damned fool, making a speech with a rope of blossoms around his neck, but A. Q. T. made a pretty good reply, in spite of it.

Those Bank wallah's get a full year's leave, with half pay. Not so bad, huh?

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[[preprinted]] Sunday, April 11, 1909 [[/preprinted]]

Today's Easter. And a hell of a bum one it is, too. It's raining cats and dogs outside, and it's chilling me very marrow bones. 

These days, so enjoyable at home, are mockeries out here. There is nothing so pitiful as a tropical, Eastern Christmas, — New Year's is almost as bad, and as for the Fourth, —well, of course you must realize that Britishers do not lend themselves to enthusiastically celebrating the anniversary of that glorious day of 133 years ago. Not so's you'd notice it.

Nope, we'll never have another war with England. They've got too good a memory.