Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leather headband inside his high grade ha. His right hand came down into the bowl of his hat. His fingers found quickly a card behind the headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and hair. The far east.
Wonder is it like that.
Those Cinghalese lobbing around in the sun, in dolce far niente, not doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to quarrel. Influence of the climate. Flowers of idleness.