The buildings floated in a liquid veil with the unreality of things seen in a dream.

The rays of the sun, filtered through bars of crystal cloud, fell not crimson nor amber nor gold, but with the mystic radiance of liquid pearls, touching the familiar scene with Eastern magic.

In the silvery light a dome reared its head that might have belonged to an Eastern mosque with a muezzin calling the faithful to prayers.

Minarets glistered, remote and ethereal, and tall spires lifted themselves like arrows in flight.
On the left lay low hills softly outlined against the pearly sky; hills of fairyland that might dissolve and disappear with the falling night; hills on the borderland of fantasy and old romance.
And as they watched, surprised out of themselves by this magic play of light, the sun's rim dipped below the skyline, a level lake of blood, and the fantastic city melted like a dream.

The pearly haze was withdrawn like a net of gossamer, and the magic city had vanished at a touch.