I have heard all the usual stories about the desert women being hags, but every one of them was pure fiction to me from that minute.

If all the rest were really what men said of them, this one was sufficiently amazing to redeem the lot.

De Crespigny addressed her as Princess, and she may have really ranked as one for all I know.
She sat on a chair, rather awkwardly, as if not used to it, and we stared at her like a row of owls, she studying us in return, quite unabashed.

The Badawi don't wear veils, and are not in the least ashamed to air their curiosity.

She stared uncommonly hard at Grim.
Of middle height, supple and slender, with the grace of all outdoors, smiling with a dignity that did not challenge and yet seemed to arm her against impertinence, not very dark, except for her long eyelashes--I have seen Italians and Greeks much darker--she somewhat resembled the American Indian, only that her face was more mobile.
Part of her beauty was sheer art, contrived by the cunning arrangement of the shawl on her head, and kohl on her eyelashes.