He turned his head and glanced at the camels, and as he did so she stretched out her foot and kicked his shins.
“Ough!” he exclaimed. “Don’t do that—it hurts!”
“Oh, I wish we were near Cairo,” she cried. “I’d turn the servants on to you and have you whipped. Go and fetch my camel!”
“Yes,” he answered, “I’m just going to. And don’t you start running away again, or I’ll not be so gentle with you when I catch you.”
He hastened across the desert, and, without any difficulty, caught Muriel’s wandering and tired animal, and readjusted the saddle. Soon he had tethered it beside his own; and coming back to her, he sat himself down a yard or two away from her, and lit his pipe.
“Say when you’re ready to start back,” he said, stretching himself out and resting his head upon his elbow.
“I’m not coming back with you,” she replied. “I’m going back to El Homra.”
“No, you’re not,” he told her. “You’re going to stay with me for this fortnight you’ve so carefully planned.”
She scrambled to her feet, her fists clenched. “If you try to force me to come with you,” she burst out, “I shall ... I shall bite you.”
He also stood up. “Now look here,” he said. “Understand me: you’re going back with me, whether you like it or not. And if you struggle I shall tie you up. Now, come along quietly.”