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The Sea Gypsy
coffee houses, where immobile Arabs, puffing on great pipes, regarded us gravely, past cubby-holes of shops where tinsmiths and sword and pipe makers were working their metals as their forefathers did a thousand years ago, and on past stalls, where sat potbellied merchants guarding their great golden Jaffa oranges, the rugs, the beads, the robes, the knives, and the hundred and one trinkets with which the stalls were loaded. And so came at last out of the bazaar into the brilliant sunlight.
We found ourselves m a maze of tall, white houses of four and five and even six stories — skyscrapers of the East. The houses were made of coral rock and mud and wood. Not one stood straight. They leaned at every angle, except heavenward. It looked as if a good push would tumble the place down as easily as a child's city of cards.
From the harbor we had seen the flags of England, France, Italy and Holland floating over the tallest of the skyscrapers in the northeastern part of the town. We found the English Consulate, peering out over the city wall, seemingly just ready to pitch itself into the desert. It was an immense five-storied building, with a most dilapidated remnant of garden in front. We climbed two flights of decaying stairs to meet in the office above the four Englishmen who composed the consulate force. The Consul and British Political Agent was a small, wiry Scotch Major-Doctor, by name Marshall, who had been one of the fellow officers of the famous young Colonel Lawrence, whose brilliant