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Updated: June 10, 2025
If it gets hotter than the Inferno I won't leave the place until I hear from Michael." She was not going to be a Lampton in one respect and not in another. A horse with the staggers was not in it with a mulish Lampton. "If you hear from him, or find undeniable proofs that the story is true, will you go then?"
The only cloud in his blue sky was the knowledge that Michael was disappointed and distressed by the fact that he had not, in some manner or other, let the Effendi Lampton know that he was seriously ill. Abdul could not have written himself, for he could neither read nor write English; he always spoke to Michael in Arabic.
If she could only get rid of her Lampton, materialistic, common-sense nature, she would be more able to advise and counsel her lover. Poor Meg! Thoughts like these had fought for coherence all night. She little knew that her nature was the perfect adjustment which Michael's needed. He came to her, not only as a lover, but as a tired traveller in search of rest.
Michael Amory was perhaps as a rule the least careful of the digging party, because he was by temperament a dreamer; and his friend, Freddy Lampton, knew that if he was not careful and on his guard he would become "a slacker." Freddy, in spite of his acknowledged ability as a scholar and Egyptologist, was practical and conventional in his methods and mode of living.
"That's out of the question I very seldom am, and I am not going to be to please Miss Lampton, I can tell you!" "Then what are you going to do?" He could not be hard on the woman for loving him; he wished he could help her and induce her to be reasonable. If she had been free, he would have felt himself bound to marry her. "I will arrange something," she said. "I don't know what."
Michael had so often expressed the wish to Abdul that it should be from his own lips, or from his own letters, that the Effendi Lampton should hear that the harlot had been with them in the desert, and the whole story of their desert journey. Abdul was quite convinced that his master's letters had not yet been delivered at the hut in the Valley.
"Aiwah, Effendi, Abdul understands. The situation has complications ill news travels apace." "I should not like the Sitt to hear from other sources that Madam was with us." "But your letter should have reached the hut by this time, Effendi." "Has there been time to get an answer? Do you believe my letter reached Effendi Lampton, Abdul?" Michael asked the question interestedly.
Her last conscious thoughts were of Margaret Lampton. What was she doing to-night? What were her thoughts? Late that night, as Abdul passed the Englishwoman's tent, he spat at her door. Weigall's Akhnaton, Pharaoh of Egypt. What was Margaret doing that night? Many days had passed since she had heard from Michael, but there was nothing in that to cause her anxiety.
Michael's stipulated work, the work which he had undertaken to do, was the making of exact copies of the mural paintings and decorations, such as Lampton required, and to help in the evenings to clean and sort and arrange the small objects which the workmen found each day.
"Why should any woman be divorced because she lives the same life as her husband does when he is apart from her?" "You don't, and aren't going to," Michael said earnestly. "I would, Michael, with you only with you." "I wish you could have been friends with Miss Lampton instead of hating her," he said sadly. "Pouf!" Millicent Mervill cried.
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