“Allah is great, and Mahomet is his prophet,” said Cronshaw impressively.
The elder advanced with a cringing smile, like a mongrel used to blows. With a sidelong glance at the door and a quick surreptitious movement he showed a pornographic picture. “Are you Masr-ed-Deen, the merchant of Alexandria, or is it from far Bagdad that you bring your goods, O, my uncle; and yonder oneeyed youth, do I see in him one of the three kings of whom Scheherazade told stories to her lord?”