CHAPTER FOURSwaying on top of a camel, Nevada thought it was rather like being on top of the waves.
She could hardly imagine that what was happening to her was true and she was in fact travelling in a sort of sedan chair on a camel’s back. It was made of braided and coloured wicker and had a curtained awning above her head.
She was aware that this litter was used only by the women of the highest Saharan society and that the others had to walk draped in blue veils or in Moslem fashion covered completely by a haik.
She had learned the name of this tent-like white garment from the books she read before she left the yacht.
But they had not prepared her for her sensational departure from it when it seemed to her that she lost her own identity and became a chattel of Tyrone Strome.
As the y
