"You are in Egypt!" she said.
Although in the darkness her walk had been familiar to him, had prepared him for the coming up to him of Bella Donna, her voice now seemed utterly unfamiliar. It was ugly and grating. He remembered that in London he had thought her voice one of her greatest charms, one of her most perfectly tempered weapons. Had he been mistaken? Had he never heard it aright? Or had he not heard it aright now?
"What are you doing in Egypt?" she said.
Her voice was ugly, almost hideous. But now he realized that its timbre was completely changed by some emotion which had for the moment entire possession of her.
"What are you doing in Egypt?" she repeated.
Isaacson cleared his throat. Afterwards he knew that he had done this because of the horrible hoarseness of Mrs. Armine's voice.
"I was feeling overworked, run down. I thought I would take a holiday."
She was silent for a minute. Then she said:
"Did you let my husband know you were coming? Does he know you are in Egypt?"
In saying this her voice became more ugly, less like hers, as if the emotion that governed her just then made a crescendo, became more vital and more complex.