Amut’s arms ached for her and always ached worse after he had tried to hold her.
He permitted his mind to careen woefully regarding the secret Verbeena was withholding. Something had made her very happy and as he felt nothing to boast of in this regard he wondered incontinently. But in his growing emotion concerning one who could not only chase him but his greatest enemy at the very sight of her, the Sheik allowed himself a sharp, sobbing intake of breath.
At the same time no other sign escaped him of the hell he was enduring. She might not like it.
But he couldn’t keep his mind off Verbeena for the distant howlings of jackals came closer and closer.
Still, as between the two, he certainly liked her best.
And what was this secret that had sent her gamboling high among the palm trees?
He had asked her and she wouldn’t tell. His soul, his mind and heart hammered, stirred, tintinnabulated and undulated to find out.
Little he knew then that vouchsafement as to this might have been regarded generally as pretty closely to hand.