“But you have to be back on the twentieth?”
“I know.”
“My dear fellow, it’s ruination. And Jessie?”
“She must do what she likes.”
“This is madness, Frank!”
“Perhaps. I can’t go; that’s all.”
“What about her?”
“I don’t know. I only know that where she goes I must.”
I just sat staring at the blunt shadow of the Sphinx’s broken profile on the moonlit sand. The strange, actionless, desert love-dream was at an end! Something definite—horrible, perhaps—must happen now! And I stammered out:
“For God’s sake, old boy, think of your wife, your work, yourself—be reasonable! It isn’t worth it, really!”