Prev | Current Page 715 | Next

Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

It became almost piteous.
Quickly Domini wait to the table, took two cigars from the box and came
back.
"You must have a cigar to smoke on the way."
"Really, Madame, you are too good, but--well, I rarely refuse a fine
cigar, and these--upon my word--are--"
He struck a match on his broad-toed boot. His demeanour was becoming
cheerful again. Domini gave the other cigar to the soldier.
"Good-night, Madame. A demain then, a demain! I trust your husband may
be able to rest. A demain! A demain!"
The light moved away over the dunes and dropped down towards the city.
Then Domini hurried across the sand to the sleeping-tent. As she went
she was acutely aware of the many distant noises that rose up in the
night to the pale crescent of the young moon, the pulsing of the tomtoms
in the city, the faint screaming of the pipes that sounded almost like
human beings in distress, the passionate barking of the guard dogs
tied up to the tents on the sand-slopes where the multitudes of fires
gleamed. The sensation of being far away, and close to the heart of the
desert, deepened in her, but she felt now that it was a savage heart,
that there was something terrible in the remoteness.


Pages:
703 704 705 706 707 708 709 710 711 712 713 714 715 716 717 718 719 720 721 722 723 724 725 726 727