dishevelled, bedraggled pleasure-seekers. They were all looking Death in the face, and the closer they looked the less they feared him. They were conscious rather of a feeling of curiosity, together with the nervous tingling with which one approaches a dentist’s chair. The dragoman made a motion of his hands and shoulders, as one who has tried and failed. The Emir Abderrahman said something to a negro, who hurried away.
“What does he want a scissors for?” asked the Colonel.
“He is going to hurt the women,” said Mansoor, with the same gesture of impotence.
A cold chill fell upon them all. They stared about them in helpless horror. Death in the abstract was one thing, but these insufferable details were another. Each had been braced to endure any evil in his own person, but their hearts were still soft for each other. The women said nothing, but the men were all buzzing together.
“There’s the pistol, Miss Adams,” said Belmont. “Give it here! We won’t be tortured! We won’t stand it!”
