‘They [officers] don’t know their men, and treat ’em like children or animals, and think of nothing, but drinking and hunting, and – and…’ he reddened to the roots of his enormous beard and looked aside. ‘Some of them consort with… with the worst type of native women.’ He cleared his throat and patted my arm. ‘There, I’m sorry, old fellow; I know it's distasteful to talk of such things, but it’s true, alas.’
I shook my head and said it was heart-breaking.
Flashman in the Great Game, p.64, Pan edition, 4th printing, 1979.
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East India Company.
