"Damn the devil water," Balloo chuckled and Julie became aware not only that they were still drinking their home brew but that all her father's warnings were falling on deaf ears. Balloo had used a serious expression of Reverend Davenport's making fun of it. "Dawak, take," he said to the black man holding Julie's head.

Dawak laughed drunkenly and lifting her head, reached over and grabbed the wooden bowl, coughing loudly after his last swallow. She could feel droplets of the foul-smelling liquid falling to the back of her neck as it dribbled from the corners of his mouth. The bowl was then passed to Kubby, the driver. The bowl made several rounds and several pauses for refilling by Enhar who sat next to Kubby and had some kind of cask between his legs.

"Hey you, what about the bwana's daughter?" Balloo suddenly laughed as he passed the bowl to Dawak. The natives had always used the "hey you" expression with great mirth. In fact, the natives always laughed a great deal, at the sacred as well as the profane, her father always said with despair. As a child, Julie had enjoyed the rollicking laughter of her black friends until her father taught her that it was the devil's own laughter and evil. Lately, she had begun to secretly question her father's judgment, but now, under the circumstances, it looked as though the reverend were right after all.

Dawak now laughed drunkenly and lifted Julie's head from his lap by the hair and thrust the bowl to her lips. She clenched her lips tightly shut in a vain attempt to ward off the terrible tasting and incidentally evil substance, but he pressed harder, forcing her mouth open. The hot burning liquid sizzled down inside her, and she coughed to keep from choking. But with each cough there was a further pressure on the bowl forcing more down the narrow confines of her throat.