At the same instant Max found he could not restrain the muscles of his arm, and his clinched fist managed to come in contact with the fat man’s nose, causing that organ to bleed with refreshing copiousness, and inducing its owner to lie on the ground on his back.
It was a curious accident—for so Max called it—but the girl did not hurry to assuage the grief of her fallen foe, but rather turned her black eyes in the direction of Max.
He then saw that she was really pretty.
Her olive skin, her long, black eyelashes overhanging sparkling dark eyes, made her quite a pretty feature in the landscape.
The fat man lay on the ground with no inclination to resume the perpendicular while Max was around.
The girl started running away, but Max called to her to stop.
He wanted to know her name, at least.
He was an American, and did not realize how different were the customs of Egypt.
She ran swiftly, but Max could outrun her.
She smiled when he got alongside her.