Explore "Tales Of The Camp" by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There was only the one little feathery clump of dôm plants in all that great wilderness of black rocks and orange sand. It stood high on the bank, and below it the brown Nile swirled swiftly towards the Ambigole Cataract, fitting a little frill of foam round each of the boulders which studded its surface. Above, out of a naked blue sky, the sun was beating down upon the sand, and up again from the sand under the brims of the pith-hats of the horsemen with the scorching glare of a blast-furnace. It had risen so high that the shadows of the horses were no larger than themselves.
-"Whew!" cried Mortimer, mopping his forehead, "you'd pay five shillings for this at the hummums."