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Updated: May 25, 2025
At four o'clock we rode into the post-house at Bideshk, thoroughly done up, and wet through with snow and perspiration, but safe, and determined, if horses were procurable, to push on at once to Murchakhar, from whence two easy stages of six and three farsakhs would land us next day at Ispahán.
It was dusk, and we had just secured the only horses available, when two Armenians, bound for Teherán, rode into the yard. When told they were just too late for a relay, the rage of one of them a short, apoplectic-looking little man was awful to behold. As I mounted, his companion came up and politely advised us not to attempt to ride to Murchakhar by night.
I could not help envying the man whose appetite and digestion would enable him to sit down to such a meal at such an hour. Sherbet, the Shagird from Murchakhar informed us in confidence, is the favourite drink of the Zil-i-Sultan.
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