pulled out of the station snorting and blowing.
Rhamon watched, and waved to the Sahib, who was leaning out of the window. Then he turned and looked up into his uncle's smiling face. Hand in hand they walked out of the station. On the street his uncle hailed a songa and they climbed into a small two-seated cart, pulled by a small and scraggy horse.
For some time they jogged along through the big old city, a part of the busy, bustling traffic. Rhamon looked about him on all sides. He had never seen such wide streets, such fine buildings, such well-dressed people, so many cars.
Then they passed through the great archway of one of the thirteen old city gates, and entered the native quarter. Here everything was different. Narrow dark little streets twisted this way and that. On each side as far as Rhamon could see there were high brick houses without windows, and endless rows of tiny shops.
Cows and bullocks wandered up and down the smelly crowded lanes, stopping to snatch a
