“Here in the ‘Belly of the desert,’” he said, quoting the Arabs’ name for Amara.
“Boris”—she spoke in a more eager voice, clasping his hand strongly—“you remember the fumoir in Count Anteoni’s garden. The place where it stood was the very heart of the garden.”
“Yes.”
“We understood each other there.”
He pressed her hand without speaking.
“Amara seems to me the heart of the Garden of Allah. Perhaps—perhaps we shall——”
She paused. Her eyes were fixed upon his face.
“What, Domini?” he asked.
He looked expectant, but anxious, and watched her, but with eyes that seemed ready to look away from her at a word.
“Perhaps we shall understand each other even better there.”