His shrewd little eyes twinkled roguishly.

The ancient metropolis of a once mighty race, the only permanent settlement in East Africa, the reported seat of Moslem learning, a walled city of stone houses, possessing its independent chief, its peculiar population, its unknown language, and its own coinage, the emporium of the coffee trade, the head-quarters of slavery, the birth-place of the Kat plant, and the great manufactory of cotton-cloths, amply, it [Harar] appeared, deserved the trouble of exploration.

Those on foot cross their arms in a bouncerly manner, chewing gum so that you can count their fillings. The pessimists hold their batons. Gael scans the officers in view and decides she'll volunteer for an all-body pat-down […]

“Oh yeah; but you girls have so many hopefuls hanging around; hard for me to keep score. Why don't you ask your dad?” “No dad: no mom; but you've been married forever. How come you never got trown?” “I just never did anything trowable. I've been accused of everything though; one time or another.”