Lost trumpet

THE LOST TRUMPET
94
Northern sun behind her. . . . Cool, with pale,
clear blue eyes, very fair hair and brows, a comely,
cleanly-moulded face with a rounded, barbarian
Viking jaw, a long mouth, even-toothed, small
hands and feet. And that heavy coolness. ... It
plagued me and piqued me. It is permissible for
any woman to look like a Valkyr. But no god or
code that ever existed has given authority for a
Valkyr to gaze and speak like a young woman of
the epoch Mid-Victorian, her mind a stubble field
stacked with dun and grainless cliches . . .
“And what do you think of Egypt ?” I asked in
some desperation, for I had been accustomed to other
types than this. She turned her strong-jawed face
upon me questioningly.
“Very nice. But the streets are very filthy, aren’t
they ? And the smell . . .”
Which was Egypt to the eyes of Aslaug Simonssen.
Cool and unsmiling of body and face and soul,
and fantastically woolly-minded, I appraised her
as we sat and ate the good Simon’s honey-cakes.
And there was something else about her, something
in those eyes unhealthy when matched with that
magnificent body
Looking straight in front of her, I found she was
beginning to tell me about the murder of her brother
Carl.
“ if he had been killed as people are killed
in fights with natives we’d have known exactly
what happened. But it wasn’t that way, and I’ve
come to find out about it.”