THE LURE OF KARTABO 33 
curves and dots, like characters of ancient illumi- 
nated Persian script. And with these appalling 
eyes Gawain looked at us, with these unreal, 
crimson-flecked globes staring absurdly from an 
expressionless emerald mask, he contemplated 
roaches and small grasshoppers, and correctly es- 
timated their distance and activity. We never 
thought of demanding friendship, or a hint of 
his voice, or common froggish activities from 
Gawain. We were content to visit him now and 
then, to arouse him, and then leave him to disin- 
carnate his vertebral outward phase into chloro- 
phyll or lifeless stone. To muse upon his court- 
ship or emotions was impossible. His life had a 
feeling of sphinx-like duration—Gawain as a 
tadpole was unthinkable. He seemed ageless, 
unreal, wonderfully beautiful, and wholly inex- 
plicable. 
