“There must have been giants once,” I said dreamily. “And their children were just like children are today⁠—they played with handfuls of pebbles, piling them up and knocking them down, and the more cleverly they balanced them, the better pleased they were. If I were to give a name to this place I should call it The Country of Giant Children.”

“Perhaps you’re nearer the mark than you know,” said Colonel Race gravely. “Simple, primitive, big⁠—that is Africa.”

I nodded appreciatively.

“You love it, don’t you?” I asked.

“Yes. But to live in it long⁠—well, it makes one what you would call cruel. One comes to hold life and death very lightly.”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Harry Rayburn. He had been like that too. “But not cruel to weak things?”