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Full text of "TheCompleteMemoirsOfGeorgeSherston"

the dusty main road with droning lorries and files of
pack animals passing. Low, rolling country, rather
brown and treeless; mostly vines and corn. The sea,
hazy and distant, shown by a line of sand-hills. After
seeing the Company settled down I have escaped to
the shadow of a thin belt of small fir trees. Tents,
camps, and horse-lines only a couple of hundred
yards away, but the place is cool and green, drowsy
with the hum of insects and the midday Chirping of
a few sparrows and crested larks. Out in the vine-
field, brimstone yellow with weeds, some Latronians
are hoeing busily, thereby increasing my enjoyment
of sitting still. Dull march to-day. Ten yards away a
patriarchal person is sitting under a tree, regarding
me gravely and evidently having nothing else to do.
According to Old Testament topography we are now
in the tribe of Dan, and I can best describe this old
gent by saying that I think he looks exactly like what
I think Dan ought to have looked like. After a while
a welcome breeze comes from the sea, swaying the firs
to an ocean murmur. Then a bird (possibly a bulbul)
gives us—me and Dan—a charming flute solo. Dan
dozes, and so shall I.

Evening. Out after tea, I found a charming garden
beside a clear quick-flowing stream with willows and
tall reeds. The garden belongs to a French monastery.
Oranges, lemons, and bananas growing. Also some
small apple-like fruit with large seeds in them. Dur-
ing a dumb-show conversation, I asked the Arab-
looking gardener what these were and he said they
were "askadinias" (which sounds like some sort of
joke).

Game home wading through huge golden daisies
among cactus-like hedges.

April 10. Up at 3.30. Started 5.30. Reached camp-
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