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Updated: June 21, 2025
LISA. What is study? EDITH. Do you not even know your alphabet? How funny it will be to see Miss Magin sitting up like a forsaken owl, calling out A, and A you will softly say; then B, and C, and so on. If you had learned to read, you would have to pore over books all the time. Nothing but books! I could learn more, rambling about three days, than I could in books in half a century.
As for Matthews, he celebrated the coronation at Dizful, in bed. And by the time he had slept off his fag, Bala Bala and the Father of Swords and the green chest and the ingenious Magin looked to him more than ever like figures of myth. He was too little of the timber out of which journalists, romancers, or diplomats are made to take them very seriously.
"Not when their teeth have dropped out," Magin threw over his shoulder "or when strong young men plug their jaws!" Two days later, or not quite three days later, the galley and the motor-boat whose accidental encounter brought about the events of this narrative met again. This second meeting took place in the Karun, as before, but at a point some fifty or sixty miles below Bund-i-Kir.
"Where did you find him?" asked Matthews, going behind the table for a better look. "They're getting few and far between around here, they say." "Oh, they still turn up," answered the Brazilian, it seemed to Matthews not too definitely. Before he could pursue the question farther, Magin clapped his hands.
Nothing but a story that in Elam has been told too often to have any novelty! Eh?" "Why," asked Matthews, quickly, "is that on already?" Magin looked at him again a moment before answering. "Not yet! But why," he added, "do you say already?" His voice had a curious rumble in the dim stone room.
But first you might do well to screw on the cap of your tank if you do not mind a little friendly advice." Gaston looked around absent-mindedly, and took up the nickel cap. But he suddenly turned back to Magin. "You speak too much about friends, Monsieur. I am not your friend. I am your enemy. And I shall not take you there, to the Ab-i-Shuteit.
It made a strange picture in the moonlight, with its black-curved beak and its spectral crew. They shifted to the other rail as the motor-boat came about, watching silently. "To your oars!" shouted Magin at them. "Row, sons of burnt fathers! Will you have me wait a month for you at Mohamera?"
For below the eagle he came upon what he darkly made out to be a species of treaty, inscribed neither in the Arabic nor in the Roman but in the German character, between the Father of Swords and a more notorious War Lord. And below that was signed, sealed, and imposingly paraphed the signature of one Julius Magin. Which was indeed a novel aspect for a Brazilian, however versatile, to reveal.
I imagined you at Mohamera, by this time, or even in the Gulf." This remark, it may not be irrelevant to say, was in German as spoken in the trim town of Zurich. "And so I should have been," replied the polyglot Magin in the same language, mounting the steps of the portico and shaking his friend's hand, "but for all sorts of things. If we ran aground once, we ran aground three thousand times.
As for Monsieur Guy, the Englishman you saw the other time, whose name does not pronounce itself, he has gone to the war. I just took him and three others to Ahwaz, where they meet more of their friends and all go together on the steamer to Mohamera." "Really! And did you hear any news at Ahwaz?" "The latest is that England has declared war." "Tiens!" exclaimed Magin.
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