"Yes," I answered, "that seems a good idea."
"Don't let's hurry," she said.
"No," I replied, "we have plenty of time."
The crowd made way for us as we turned from the mosque, and we walked on beyond it up through the bazaars. The men had begun to fight and wrangle amongst themselves, the narrow street was tightly packed, and the crowd surged up behind us as we walked on. We were in the covered part of the bazaars; the usual bright-coloured keffiyehs hung outside; gaudy cotton coats of Eastern make lay on the top of bales of Manchester prints and flannelettes; there was the leather stall, with gorgeous beaded bridles and handsomely embroidered native saddles; and next it was the boot bazaar, with none of our blackness about it, but a mass of red and yellow sandals. We had seen it all, just the same, in a score of similar villages, but I took it all in this time as I had never taken it in before.
"What a funny baby's garment that is," said X.
The crowd behind were beginning to push.
"Yes," I said, "I wonder how it gets outside the baby."
An angry buzz arose just behind us; were they going to stick us in the back? We both disdained to turn our heads to see.
"I hope Hassan will think of getting some spinach," I said, "there was some in the vegetable bazaar."
"He knows you like it," X answered, "he is sure to get it."