Or a procession of 2000 camels laden with the gold of the Americas if she preferred to do business that way.
“Just name your price, girlie,” would inevitably be the message.
And here was this Arab rotter grabbing her around the girdle and taking her somewhere west of Suez!
And what for?
What was the idea?
Not till then did it occur to Verbeena that it might be because she was a woman. Naturally, this notion filled her with astonishment and disgust. And rage, touched most lightly with the erotic.
She got madder and madder!
Indeed, Verbeena became virtuously vibrant with a revolt virginally volcanic. Her eyes shone virescent with hatred and the tiny blue veins on her white forehead under the tawny clubbed curls became varicose.
Besides, she was getting kind of scared.