"Aye, but you should see them at Philae. They ignite and bound into
brilliance like sparks of meeting metal and flint. Ah, but the tropics
are precipitate!"
"I know them not," she ventured.
"Their acquaintance is better avoided. They have no mean--they leap
from extreme to extreme. They are violent, immoderate. It is instant
night and instant day; it is the maddest passion of summer always.
Nature reigns at the top of her voice and chokes her realm with the
fervor of her maternity. Nay, give me the north. I would feel the
earth's pulse now and then without burning my fingers."
"There is room for choice in this land of thine," she mused after a
little.
"Land of mine?" he repeated inquiringly, turning his head to look at
her. "Is it not also thine?"
"Nay, it is not the Hebrews' and it never was," the clear answer came
from the dusk behind him.
"So!" he exclaimed. "After four hundred years in Egypt they have not
adopted her!"
"We have but sojourned here a night. The journey's end is farther on."
"Israel hath made a long night of the sojourn," he rejoined laughingly.
"Nay," she answered. "Thou hast not said aright. It is Egypt that
hath made a long night of our sojourn.
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