Arabian Sands

I'm finally starting to get into Arabian Sands, partially because he [Wilfred Thesiger] has stopped name droping places / people / tribes, and there is starting to be a bit more thought behind the words than just the "Then we walked to the next well, drank and fed our camels" routine he seemed stuck in for the first 65 pages.

As we rose to go an old man approached. He mumbled a salutation and we replied. He stood and stared at me, wrinkling his eyes; he wore a short dirty loin-cloth and carried a stick - he was evidently too poor to own a dagger. Grey hair sprouted on his chest and eldritch locks fell around his emaciated face; a single tooth wobbled as he spoke. He looked at me for some time and then mumbled again, 'I came to see the Christian.' I wondered what he saw as he peered at me with his bleary eyes, this old man whose ancestors were tabled in Genesis. Perhaps dimly he foresaw the end.

Now I think I'll take my coughing and sniffling elsewhere. To bed with tea sounds good.