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Updated: May 4, 2025
I had evidently traversed it. Before me was a heavily curtained archway. Irritably, I pulled the curtain aside, learnt that it masked a glass-paneled door, opened this door and found myself in a small court, dimly lighted and redolent of some pungent, incense-like perfume. One step forward I took, then pulled up abruptly. A sound had come to my ears.
He glided across the floor, his wet boots creaking unmusically, and peeped through. He saw a matting-lined corridor identical with that known as Block A. The door of one apartment, that on the extreme left, was opened. Sickly fumes were wafted out to him, and these mingled with the incense-like odor which characterized the temple of the dragon. A moment he stood so, then started back, appalled.
Education is unknown among the Egyptian women. They have no mental resort. Life, intellectually, is to them a blank. There was a mingled atmospheric flavor impregnating everything with an incense-like odor, thoroughly Oriental. One half expected to meet Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, as we still look for Antonio and the Jew on the Rialto at Venice.
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