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She asked nothing. She had no need to ask. All the desolation about her seemed suddenly to blossom like the rose. Instead of the end of the world, this place seemed to be the core, the warm heart of the world. When at last she spoke, she said quietly: "Your master will go jackal-shooting to-night." Ibrahim nodded his head. "I dessay," he pensively replied.
"I'm sick of the Fayyūm," she said fiercely, "utterly sick of it. I want to go back to the Nile. Do you know where Baroudi is? Is he on the Nile? I hate, I loathe this place." "My lady," said Ibrahim, very gently, "there is good jackal-shootin' here." "Jackal-shooting, duck-shooting so you think of nothing but your master's pleasure!" she said, indignantly.
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