I was fool enough to run after my helmet; and--you must have seen the
same thing happen a hundred times--each time that I stooped to pick it
up it skipped away; each time that I ran after it, it stopped and waited
for me to catch it up. And before one was aware what one was doing, one
had run a quarter of a mile. I went down, I was told, like a log just
when I had the helmet in my hand. How long ago it happened I don't quite
know, for I was ill for a time, and afterwards it was difficult to keep
count, since one couldn't tell the difference between day and night."
Durrance, in a word, had gone blind. He told the rest of his story. He
had bidden his followers carry him back to Berber, and then, influenced
by the natural wish to hide his calamity as long as he could, he had
enjoined upon them silence. Calder heard the story through to the end,
and then rose at once to his feet.
"There's a doctor. He is clever, and, for a Syrian, knows a good deal. I
will fetch him here privately, and we will hear what he says. Your
blindness may be merely temporary."
The Syrian doctor, however, pursed up his lips and shook his head. He
advised an immediate departure to Cairo.
Pages:
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172