But the newcomers had no eyes for us.
In a twinkling the pavilion changed from a common saloon, which might have been in Chicago or Paris, to a place of mystery--yes, and of beauty.

It became the Garden-House of Suliman the Red, whoever that sportsman may have been.

Sandy had said that the ends of the earth converged there, and he had been right.

I lost all consciousness of my neighbours--stout German, frock-coated Turk, frowsy Jewess--and saw only strange figures leaping in a circle of light, figures that came out of the deepest darkness to make a big magic.
The leader flung some stuff into the brazier, and a great fan of blue light flared up.

He was weaving circles, and he was singing something shrill and high, whilst his companions made a chorus with their deep monotone.