The House of the Falcon
city. Instead, her mount backed against the reed matting that covered the enclosure front.
A fat man in a fez ran out in his slippers and started a tirade against the invader of his premises. Then, seeing the American girl, he fell voiceless, with his great jaws agape. He backed into the house, through the matting, still staring.
"English! I will pay!" Edith faced her tormentors stoically. "Oh, can't you understand? Go—Boro! Boro!"—a phrase borrowed from Iskander, in anger. *'Take me to the sahibs, the eftendi!"
She paused, biting her lips. The bleared eyes stared through the dust, emotionless. The passing camels coughed and grunted. Vile odors swept into the girl. From behind her through the matting billowed a pungent scent of frying fish, mutton fat, dirt, smoke, stale human breath wine-laden, and a penetrating, sweetish aroma she did not recognize as opium.
"Nakir el kadr!"
A voice bellowed near her. At once a snapping, snarling chorus of dogs arose as the curs of the alley felt encouraged to annoy the frantic horse. Edith saw a beast with the body of a dachshund and the head of a mastiff snap at the stallion's flank; a brown mixture of terrier and setter with a Pekingese tail slunk near her. A giant wolfhound bared vicious teeth.
The mob paid no attention, never ceasing to watch her.
It was hideous for Edith to think that in another street Englishmen might be sitting down to dinner, or the governor of the city dining upon his terrace. Perhaps an American missionary was walking near by. She could not move toward them—if, indeed, she knew where to go.
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