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” He said to her with as much casualness as he could muster. "He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine—that's what he is. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. She had not been sufficiently prompted in relation to the ways of caravansaries; but her mind had been alert and receptive. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.
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