IV
THE WORLD
From the Desert back to the town, to "the world,"
to the hurly-burly of Cairo and the flesh-pots of
Egypt! It is war-time, the summer of 1915, the
Turks are being fought on the Peninsula of
Gallipoli. The city is full of soldiers, sunburned
Australians and New Zealanders who have not yet
been in action but are being kept lest the Arabs
should come out of the Desert and strive to efface
the English and French civilisation of the banks of
the lower Nile and so add more ruins to the ruins
of Egypt. The city is majestical with its broad
streets, white stone palaces and stately mansions, its
wondrous river and its mighty bridges. The dryness,
cleanness, and whiteness of a city that knows
no rain; the city gleams in a vast supply of sunshine.
The wind blows all the time from the
Desert, and wafts heat in the face as from a furnace.
A city of life and gay energy. The fountain
of life plays rapidly and brilliantly all the time,
throwing up all colours, forms, faces. There is a
sense of resplendent and tremendous gaiety. No