"We tried to take pictures but there was only the little box camera and the shutter stuck and there was a bitter argument about the shutter while the light failed, and I was nervous now, irritable, righteous, pompous about the shutter and inclined to be abusive because we could get no picture. You cannot live on a plane of the sort of elation I had felt in the reeds and having killed, even when it is only a buffalo, you feel a little quiet inside. Killing is not a feeling that you share and I took a drink of water and told P.O.M. I was sorry I was such a bastard about the camera. She said it was alright and we were alright again looking at the buff with M'Cola making the cuts for the headskin and we standing close together and feeling fond of eachother and understanding everything, camera and all. I took a drink of the whiskey and it had no taste and I felt no kick from it.
"Let me have another," I said. The second one was alright.
Not a bad read if you feel you might never have the chance to go to Africa and kill big animals like Hemingway.
