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Updated: May 2, 2025
Gerome sat erect, with her hands resting on the balustrade, and under that mysteriously white moon her pearl-pale face looked as hopelessly cold and rigid as any Persepolitan sphinx, that nightly fronts the immemorial stars which watch the ruined tombs of Chilminar.
Leigh again so soon, for she felt that an undefinable barrier had suddenly risen between them; the frank, fearless freedom of the old friendship at the parsonage table had vanished. She began to wish that she had never studied Hebrew, that she had never heard of Basilides, and that the sheik's ring was back among the ruins of Chilminar. Mrs.
Many years ago, while an uncle of mine was missionary in Arabia, he saved the life of a son of a wealthy sheik, and received from him, in token of his gratitude, a curious ring, which tradition said once belonged to a caliph, and had been found near the ruins of Chilminar. The ring was bequeathed to me. and is probably the best authenticated antique in this country.
Then an irresistible desire had brought him to the regions beyond the Euphrates, and the mystery of Assyria, Babylonia, and Chaldea had fascinated him, so that he had visited the land of Nimrod, seen the site of their old buried capitals, had been the guest in the tents of Shammar and Aneyzah Arabs, and even passed on to see the famous forty columns of Chilminar, old Persian Persepolis, and to penetrate the mountain fastnesses where the Bakhtiyari maintained a perilous freedom.
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