"And people talk of the monotony of the Sahara!" Domini said speaking
out of their mutual thought. "Everything is here, Boris; you've never
drawn near to London. Long before you reach the first suburbs you feel
London like a great influence brooding over the fields and the woods.
Here you feel Amara in the same way brooding over the sands. It's as if
the sands were full of voices. Doesn't it excite you?"
"Yes," he said. "But"--and he turned in his saddle and looked back--"I
feel as if the solitudes were safer."
"We can return to them."
"Yes."
"We are splendidly free. There's nothing to prevent us leaving Amara
tomorrow."
"Isn't there?" he answered, fixing his eyes upon the minarets.
"What can there be?"
"Who knows?"
"What do you mean, Boris? Are you superstitious? But you reject the
influence of place. Don't you remember--at Mogar?"
At the mention of the name his face clouded and she was sorry she had
spoken it. Since they had left the hill above the mirage sea they had
scarcely ever alluded to their night there. They had never once talked
of the dinner in camp with De Trevignac and his men, or renewed their
conversation in the tent on the subject of religion.
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