A little group of Indians passed the gate: gnarled tiny creatures of the Stone Age: the men in short smocks walked with long poles, and the women with black plaits and knocked-about faces carried their babies on their backs. “The Indians have heard you are here,” Miss Lehr said. “They’ve walked fifty miles–I shouldn’t be surprised.”
They stopped at the gate and watched him: when he looked at them they went down on their knees and crossed themselves–the strange elaborate mosaic touching the nose and ears and chin. “My brother gets so angry,” Miss Lehr said, “if he sees somebody go on his knees to a priest–but I don’t see that it does any harm.”
Round the corner of the house the mules were stamping–the guide must have brought them out to give them their maize: they were slow feeders, you had to give them a long start. It was…
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Leonard Durso 
Very powerful. I remember reading Graham Greene for the firts time in “A Burnt Out Case”. I haven’t read him again for years, his heavy depressive outlook being so close to what we live with from members of my family. However there is no denying his brilliant writing.
I reread him periodically. Sometimes just favorite sections but often entire books.
Thanks Len for introducing me to Graham. This is such an intriguing piece of prose. I easily pictured you writing it.
Glad you like it, Michael. He’s one of the writers I return to each year.
I can understand why you do.