CHAPTER XVI
THE EXPECTED ONE
LUCKILY for Colonel Spottiswoode, his dinner did not depend upon Zack's return with a bucket of mirage water. And the Colonel soon forgot, as Zack frequently departed on hurry errands and neglected to come back. Dinner was served on a broad brick terrace, fronting the Nile and open to the heavens. Red-shaded candles on the table glowed dim beneath that vivid moon of Africa. A ragged skyline hemmed them in with a fantastic silhouette of palms; curving lines followed the spread of low acacias, tapering off into a feathery fringe of shrubs in which pale green paroquets had chattered themselves to sleep. Behind each chair stood a silent Jaalin in purest white, with tribal gashes across his cheeks. Cameron rested his powerful forearm on the table and talked—he talked of things, for Cameron was a man who did things. Now he talked steadily and forcefully of what was being done on Beni Yeb. It was a triumph for this stranger of the despised religion, coming to deserted lands upon the heels
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