She is either a goddess in her own right or the most treacherous old she-devil who ever sat in a heathen temple.

She can be both.

To love her, you must be prepared to take her either way." They went up into the bungalow.

Peter the Great glided forward like a magnificent genie and presented a scrap of paper on a salver to Monck.
He took it, opened it, frowned over it.
"The messenger arrived three hours ago, _sahib_.

He could not wait," murmured Peter.
Monck's frown deepened.