What interested me most was the thought that, if that really was Jimgrim, he must have been in a prodigious hurry about something; and that most likely meant excitement, if not danger across the Dead Sea.
We caught sight of the Dead Sea presently, bowling past the Inn of the Good Samaritan and beginning to descend into the valley, twelve hundred feet below sea level, that separates Palestine from Moab.

The moon shone full on the water, and it looked more wan and wild than an illustration out of Dante's Inferno.

There was no doubt how the legends sprang up about birds falling dead as they flew across it.

It was difficult to believe that anything could be there and not die.

It was a vision of the land of death made beautiful.
But the one-eyed Arab on the rear seat began to sing.