It seemed as if she would never go. I was touched, but at the same
time vexed. I felt a great need of withdrawing into myself.
"My room is above yours," she said. "There is a copper gong on the
table here. You have only to strike if you want anything. A white
Targa will answer."
For a second, these instructions amused me. I was in a hotel in the
midst of the Sahara. I had only to ring for service.
I looked about my room. My room! For how long?
It was fairly large. Cushions, a couch, an alcove cut into the rock,
all lighted by a great window covered by a matting shade.
I went to the window and raised the shade. The light of the setting
sun entered.
I leaned my elbows on the rocky sill. Inexpressible emotion filled my
heart. The window faced south. It was about two hundred feet above the
ground. The black, polished volcanic wall yawned dizzily below me.
In front of me, perhaps a mile and a half away, was another wall, the
first enclosure mentioned in the Critias. And beyond it in the
distance, I saw the limitless red desert.