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Updated: May 24, 2025
The news that there was no escape for many hours to come distressed no one apparently, except "Antoun." He had gone to the door, and tried to open it, but found that already it was locked on the other side. Then he knew that it was useless to struggle, for he was unarmed, the door was thick, and no one outside could hear if he shouted.
"But, if it would be impossible for her to marry the some one else?" "Why should it be impossible?" "She would think it impossible." "Would she, if " I checked myself, but Mrs. East understood instantly. "If he has a secret," she said, "then none of us has a right to suggest it to her. Every man for himself, Lord Ernest, in love! Antoun Effendi has no reason too feel too kindly to Monny.
You must see now that he's a gentleman. And a a an Egyptian gentleman is just the same as any other." "Surely not quite!" she answered in the same language, and I realized my foolish mistake in using it, as if I meant her to understand that Antoun Effendi knew it too little to catch our secrets. "An Egyptian man can't have the same feelings as a European?
No, I was not sure. I could inquire. I tried not to look triumphant, but I must have darted out a ray, because Monny withdrew into her shell. She had inquired out of curiosity, she explained. I had told such stories about the Enchantress Isis that she would like to see her. Perhaps Antoun Effendi could get permission for a visit to the boat.
"You never told me you were leaving us at Khartum," the girl stammered. "I thought " But, though we knew what she thought, she could go no further before an audience. "My business prevents me from staying at the hotel," Anthony explained. "And though I shall see you, never again will you see poor Ahmed Antoun." "I don't understand," Monny said. "I know. But that was what we agreed upon.
There they inconveniently remained in the Temple of Mut, looking twice as large as life. "What if I tell them they've seen everything?" I muttered. "They haven't, but that's a detail. If I could rush 'em all back to the boat and you with them, of course, and get Mabella Hanem and the Bronsons off safely, I could go look for Anth for Antoun.
They looked like sheets torn from a notebook. And I saw that the address, scrawled in pencil, was in Anthony's handwriting. The letter had evidently been dashed off in a great hurry. It was short and written in French, the language in which "Antoun" chose to talk with foreigners. Give the bearer two hundred piastres and let him go. Don't try to make him speak. I have promised this.
"I've just told you," Anthony repeated, "that Antoun is saying good-bye to you forever." "Yet you told me, too, that after Khartum I should be hap " She cut herself short, and shut her lips closely. I was angry with Fenton for what seemed cruelty to one who had very nobly confessed her love for him.
"Triumph!" I exclaimed. "You're heroines!" "Was it, Biddy?" the girl asked, half shyly of her friend. "So great that I can't talk about it," Brigit answered, and her eyes implored mine not to ask questions. Also they said that she had things to tell me not now but by and by. Things for me alone. Biddy's eyes could be wonderful. "Where's Antoun Effendi?"
In fact, having Antoun and me to refer to, the Set as a whole sat upon the unfortunate dragoman, trying to talk him down in tombs and temples, or ostentatiously reading Weigall, Maspero, Petrie, Sladen, and Lorimer when he attempted to give them information. A few with kinder intentions, however, interrupted his flow of historical narrative by exclaiming, "Why, yes, of course!"
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