Chapter 11
Mrs Boynton was here, at Petra!
Sarah answered mechanically questions that were addressed to her. Would she have dinner
straight away—it was ready—or would she like to wash first? Would she prefer to sleep in a tent or a
cave?
Her answer to that came quickly. A tent. She flinched¹ at the thought of a cave, the vision of that
monstrous² squatting³ figure recurred⁴ to her. (Why was it that something about the woman seemed
hardly human?)
Finally she followed one of the native servants. He wore khaki breeches, much patched, and
untidy puttees and a ragged⁵ coat very much the worse for wear. On his head the native headdress, the
cheffiyah, its long folds protecting the neck and secured in place with a black silk twist fitting tightly
to the crown of his head. Sarah admired the easy swing with which he walked—the careless proud
carriage of his head. Only the European part of his costume seemed tawdry and wrong. She thought:
‘Civilization is all wrong—all wrong! But for civilization there wouldn’t be a Mrs Boynton! In
savage⁶ tribes they’d probably have killed and eaten her years ago!’
She realized, half-humorously, that she was over-tired and on edge. A wash in hot water and a
dusting of powder over her face and she felt herself again—cool, poised⁷, and ashamed of her recent
panic.
She passed a comb through her thick black hair, squinting⁸ sideways at her reflection in the
wavering light of a small oil-lamp in a very inadequate⁹ glass.
Then she pushed aside the tent-flap and came out into the night prepared to

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