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See you the quivering air on the horizon, to the north, east, and south?

Of course, of course; that is the heat

It is the desert burning.

What say you? The desert burning?

Do not jest so unpleasantly, good Anatolus! Tell us,—what is it?

The desert burning, I tell you. Out yonder, where the sand ceases, the Persians have set the grass on fire. We can make no progress till the ground cools.

Oh is not this appalling! What barbarians! To have recourse to such means!

Then there is no choice left us. Without provisions, without water; why do we not retreat?

Over the Tigris and Euphrates?