I was getting down the bags.

A boy came out and took our bags and we went in to the desk.

The boy who brought us up pulled up the curtains and brought in our bags.

“Take the gun and the bags in the house, Nick, and bring me a paper,” he said.

He did not say anything but looked at the bags against the wall of the station.

“I’d better take the bags over to the other side of the station,” the man said.

He picked up the two heavy bags and carried them around the station to the other tracks.

There were bags of charcoal piled beside the road, and through the trees we saw charcoal-burners’ huts.

I handed bags through the windows, and we were out on the dim longness of the platform, and the American lady put herself in charge of one of three men from Cook’s who said: “Just a moment, madame, and I’ll look for your name.”