I was practically their only intimate for months.

Don't be afraid; you won't be obliged to go shares in Cecily with anybody for a good long while,' added Mrs.Morgan kindly.
'I know just how you feel about THAT.' The muddy water of the Ditch chafed up from under us against its banks with a smell that enabled me to hide the emotions Mrs.Morgan evoked behind my handkerchief.

The pale desert was pictorial with the drifting, deepening purple shadows of clouds, and in the midst a blue glimmer of the Bitter Lakes, with a white sail on them.

A little frantic Arab boy ran alongside keeping pace with the ship.

Except for the smell, it was like a dream, we moved so quietly; on, gently on and on between the ridgy clay banks and the rows of piles.