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32 8 Oriental Cairo<br />

us, we hoped that they would stay there all night and form<br />

part of our seance.<br />

Then two fat Indians came along on very small donkeys,<br />

attended by two little boys in fluttering white night-shirts.<br />

The Indians and our Arab policeman conversed with each<br />

other in English. I could interpret a look of surprise, and<br />

certainly a look of utter boredom, on the face of the Sphinx<br />

to suit my frame of mind.<br />

To get away from the Indians, who really were rather good<br />

adjuncts to the scenery, with their black faces and fancy dress,<br />

we left the Berberine, who was comforted by the presence of<br />

the policeman, to unload the camel while we took a walk into<br />

the desert. The old Arab cemetery struck exactly the right<br />

note in the moonlight, with its white-turbaned tombs, its dark<br />

sycamores, its two tall palms, and the four pink pyramids<br />

beyond. The little pyramid, too lowly to be noticed often,<br />

stood out well from here beside its lordly brothers which<br />

were built to entomb Cheops and Chephren and Mycerinus,<br />

who would none of them recognise their own names in this<br />

popular form. Cheops called himself Khufu, Chephren called<br />

himself Kha-f-Ra, and Mycerinus called himself Men-kau-ra.<br />

We wandered on to the top of the bluff to see the darkheaded<br />

white Sphinx surrounded by all the pyramids and<br />

jnastabas : the little tombs of the Arab cemetery were spread<br />

out like a map at our feet. Farther off were the lights of<br />

the two Pyramid villages : we could see the<br />

nearer— they were so white in the moonlight.<br />

houses of the<br />

Last time we<br />

passed that little graveyard in the dark everything seemed<br />

so very different, for some notable was being carried to his<br />

grave, followed by hundreds of torches, with a noise of wailing<br />

and chanting which could be heard half a mile off in the<br />

night stillness of the desert. Then the air had been as keen<br />

as frost, now there was a soft, sweet wind—the Zephyr of<br />

classical story.<br />

I don't think I ever remember air so lovely as we lay under<br />

our blankets on the desert sand — with waterproof sheets<br />

between : the surveyor insisted on that. It was not the<br />

soft bed that the sand itself would have been. I have often

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