410
CAIRO TO DAMASCUS
Muslimin in Damascus, rose to greet me. The face I saw I
wished never to see again, even in a nightmare. If ever I saw a
Mephistopheles in the flesh, Dawahbi was it! He was dressed
in a black striped frock coat, coming to his knees. Beady black
eyes shone behind his black-rimmed glasses. They looked me
over icily. A thin mustache crawled over his upper lip. A
short, stubby beard—which had neither the dignity nor aesthetic quality of a full beards—stretched from ear to ear like a
grimy smear. His ears were large, his nose fleshy. His full lips
were the color of dried blood. It was the quality of his eyes,
however, which drew my attention most. They were th R6