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where he lay outside the gate, he was astounded to hear the dying man raise himself on one elbow and ask in plain English, "Do you have an airmail stamp?"

Rationalizing that to allow an unsolved enigma to expire was a greater sin than interfering in the destinies of men, the Lama gave orders that Turner be brought inside, nursed if possible until he was well--if such was his fate. It was--and scarely three weeks later, the Lama found his guest seated upright on his pallet, weak, but able to converse.

"You speak English!" croaked Turner in amazement.

"I speak many languages.' stated the Lama, matter-of-factly. "I have much use for languages in dealing with those persons interested in the herbs and the extracts we produce here. I suspect however that is not your interest. Tell me, Mr. Turner-- why did you come to Lo Mantang?"

Turner related his adventure.

It-and so, I

came here to see if the story about the monastery was true,"

"And now Mr. Turner?"

Turner showed an earnest face to the High Lama as he said, "I want to join your group."

"It is out of the question, Mr. Turner." The Lama turned and stalked out of the room, his high heeled shoes clacking on the stone floor.

Turner felt a tear begin to form in one eye; after so much, and so long--and he would not be permitted to enter.

After a few more weeks, Turner was well enough to move about freely. To a point.. He was denied entrance to a large part of the monastery, One day he was summoned by the High Lama, the first time

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