The Art-Music, Literature and Linguistics Forum

“Shan, I know you are very sleepy, but it’s getting cold and late, too.”

I stirred lazily, opening my eyes. Yes! I was with Fah Lo Suee, somewhere on the banks of the Nile. And I was content—utterly, rapturously content.

“Love dreams are bitter-sweet, Shan, because we know we are dreaming. . . .”

I could see a long reach of the river, silver under the moon, dahabeahs moored against the left bank, where groups of palms formed a background for their slender, graceful masts.

“I think someone has been watching, Shan; I am going to drive you back to Shepheard’s now.”

And as she drove, I watched the delicate profile of the driver. In the complete surrender of that embrace I experienced a mad triumph, in which Ramin, Nayland Smith, the chief, all, were forgotten.