King--of the Khyber Rifles: A Romance of Adventure
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The opening
Chapter I
Suckled were we in a school unkind On suddenly snatched deduction And ever ahead of you (never behind!) Over the border our tracks you’ll find, Wherever some idiot feels inclined To scatter the seeds of ruction.
For eyes we be, of Empire, we! Skinned and Puckered and quick to see And nobody guesses how wise we be. Unwilling to advertise we be. But, hot on the trail of ties, we be The pullers of roots of ruction!
—Son of the Indian Secret Service
The men who govern India—more power to them and her!—are few. Those who stand in their way and pretend to help them with a flood of words are a host. And from the host goes up an endless cry that India is the home of thugs, and of three hundred million hungry ones.
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About this edition
- The words
- The author's text, copied word for word.
- Copied from
- Left out
- The source library's header, footer and license
- The title page and opening pages before chapter 1
- Closing line (the app supplies the end of the book)