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A light shines out before us, however, and by ten o'clock we are snug and safe for the night in the telegraph-station of Deybid. These sudden changes of temperature make the Persian climate very trying. At this time of year, however balmy the air and bright the sunshine at midday, one must always be prepared for a sudden and extreme change after sunset.
By midday, however, we are out of it, and, as we subsequently discover, for the last time. We had up till now been singularly fortunate as regards accidents, or rather evil results from them. To-day, however, luck deserted us, for a few miles out of Deybid my right leg became so swollen that I could scarcely sit on my horse.
The Plain of Deybid was covered with snow at least two feet deep, the temperature must have stood at very few degrees above zero, and yet, not five hours before, we were perspiring in our shirt-sleeves. "Mashallah!" exclaims Gerôme next morning, shading his eyes and looking across the dazzling white expanse. "Are we, then, never to finish with this accursed snow?"
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