“Madame is very strong. Madame walks like a Bedouin.”
Batouch’s voice sounded seriously astonished, and Domini burst out laughing.
“In England there are many strong women. But I shall grow stronger here. I shall become a real Arab. This air gives me life.”
They were just reaching the road when there was a clatter of hoofs, and a Spahi, mounted on a slim white horse, galloped past at a tremendous pace, holding his reins high above the red peak of his saddle and staring up at the sun. Domini looked after him with critical admiration.
“You’ve got some good horses here,” she said when the Spahi had disappeared.
“Madame knows how to ride?”
She laughed again.
“I’ve ridden ever since I was a child.”
“You can buy a fine horse here for sixteen pounds,” remarked Batouch, using the pronoun “tu,” as is the custom of the Arabs.
“Find me a good horse, a horse with spirit, and I’ll buy him,” Domini said. “I want to go far out in the desert, far away from everything.”