Mrs. Horsefall faced him. “Mrs. Collard died last night. We buried her this morning over there. If you make us walk every day like this, we shall all die. These women aren’t fit to march at all. You know that.”
“What woman die of?” he enquired. “What illness?”
“She had dysentery and malaria, as most of us have had. She died of exhaustion after yesterday’s march. You’d better come inside and look at Mrs. Frith and Judy Thomson. They couldn’t possibly have marched today.”
He walked into the barn, and stood looking at the two or three women sitting listless in the semi-darkness. Then he said something to the sergeant and went back to his car. At the door he turned to Mrs. Horsefall. “Very sad woman die,” he said. “Perhaps I get a truck in Kuala Lumpur. I will ask.” He got into the car and
