His expression was abject and, so lost in self-pity was he, he actually addressed me by name:
“Please, Amrita. This… This is too much. I… I’m trying to adjust to your ways and… Look, I know your culture is different and… and…”
Again I helped him, having concocted a ludicrous and totally fictitious explanation for my treatment of him that probably made the superior fool look upon my country with even more contempt for its backward social customs – even as he was forced to observe these completely fallacious mores:
“It is hard for you to come to terms with what I expect of you as my manservant – let alone to be compelled to take on that position in the way I would expect from a man of my own country?”
If hearing me describe him as a manservant was not to his liking, then he brightened a
