He suspected they did it not just because of their voracious appetite for tropical hardwoods and the money that it brought in, but because of a visce… - Shamini Flint

Mrs. Singh finally hove into view. “About bloody time,” he muttered. “These fellows have been trying to take our passports, our bags, our trolley – they’d have walked off with me balanced on their heads if you’d taken any longer.”
“Strong but not that strong,” remarked Mrs. Singh, leading the way to the taxi rank.

“Sounds like preparation for war,” remarked Singh, yet again forced to contemplate the difference between Singapore policing’s idea of a tough day at the office, an outbreak of jaywalking perhaps, and the Indian equivalent.
“Sometimes it is exactly like war,” said Patel in a quiet voice and Singh had a sudden glimpse into the abyss.

The Penan do not have many possessions. They have lived for generations in the Borneo forests in harmony with their environment, taking what they need from the jungle, leaving no footprint but that of bare feet on muddy earth washed away with each rain. It was not difficult for them to regroup and move deeper into the forest. They would not be missed and traces of their ephemeral presence would soon be erased.