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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 48 mind. Up on that scaffolding. "Anyways my nose. Okay maybe an ounce over the norm, he's looking at my nose, well between that Pooh-bah and myself, if you were casting for Cyrano--" "Of course. It's a biological adaptation. A good-sized nose filters the intense heat of the desert--" "You see. And that was what he was worried about me. That maybe a surgeon bobbed it. "'Israeli intelligence?'" he querried. "So handsome, I thought. "Must each generation have it's desert lover? A Valentino, A Sharif. . ." "A Fairbanks, a Coleman?" "'Answer me girl, are you from Miami Beach?' "So hard and impersonal. And all the while I knew the name, the habits from the Newsweek biography. "'Your excellency,' I began, 'we are of a common cause. At his once-frantic terminal, my father's trucks sit, thirsting. . .' "'Well-spoken--' "I would, 'I told him, 'allay your fears. "'Your eyes, he flattered, 'are like tiled flowers in a mosque. Lovely child, I want you to have this.'" "The mirrored Onyx of Omar." Dory admired. Six centuries ago armies had clashed over it, like the rock Kaaba. |