There are hundreds of places.

Come and see them.' 'I don't quite like that place.

It sounds lazy.

Tell me another.' 'What do you think of a big, red, dead city built of red sandstone, with raw green aloes growing between the stones, lying out neglected on honey-coloured sands?
There are forty dead kings there, Maisie, each in a gorgeous tomb finer than all the others.

You look at the palaces and streets and shops and tanks, and think that men must live there, till you find a wee gray squirrel rubbing its nose all alone in the market-place, and a jewelled peacock struts out of a carved doorway and spreads its tail against a marble screen as fine pierced as point-lace.
Then a monkey--a little black monkey--walks through the main square to get a drink from a tank forty feet deep.