I often passed, on the road, camel and mule-cloths that made my mouth water, so old were their texture and delicate their pattern and colouring, but the owners invariably declined, under any circumstances, to part with them.
Kashan will ever be associated in my mind with the fact that I there saw the prettiest woman it was my luck to meet in Persia.

The glimpse was but a momentary one, but amply sufficed to convince me that those who say that _all_ Persian women are ugly (as many do) know nothing-whatever about it.
It was towards sunset, in one of the caravanserais, to which, hot and tired with the long dusty ride, I came for a quiet smoke and a cup of coffee.

The sensation of absolute repose was delicious after the heat and glare, the stillness of the place unbroken save for the plash of a marble fountain, and, outside, the far-off voices of the "muezzims," calling the faithful to evening prayer.

From the blue dome, with its golden stars and white tracery, the setting sun, streaming in through coloured glass, threw the softest shades of violet and ruby, emerald and amber, upon the marble pavement.

The stalls around were closed for the night; all save one, a "manna" [G] shop.