Then the guide plucked my sleeve and I followed him along the righthand road.
We walked half a mile as fast as he could set foot to the ground.
At last we reached a pretense of a village--a little cluster of half-a-dozen thatched stone huts enclosed within one fence of thorn and cactus.

Everything showed up as clearly in the moonlight as if painted with phosphorus.

The heavy shadows only made the high lights seem more luminous.

A man and two donkeys were waiting for us outside the thorn hedge.

The man made no remark.