George Manville Fenn

George Manville Fenn

Summary

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn In the Mahdi's Grasp

For one moment Frank thought of self, and how strange it all was that he, the young Englishman, accustomed to London and its ways, the student of chemistry, full of experimental lore, should be riding there in disguise, the Hakim’s slave and assistant—the favourite of a powerful Baggara Emir and his son—riding through the teeming crowds of that hive of horror, bloodshed, and misery, and those familiar with his appearance making way at once.
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn In the Mahdi's Grasp

Frank laughed merrily, and for the time being he was the schoolboy again.
“Please, sir,” he said mockingly, “it wasn’t me. Answer me first,” he cried. “Why do you talk about feeling like an impostor? Why,” continued the young man warmly, “I feel as if through my plan I am going to heap blessings upon mine enemy’s head. I am taking you through this country, amongst these cruelly savage people, to do nothing but good. Wherever you go your name will be blessed; they will think of the Great Hakim as long as they live.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn In the Mahdi's Grasp

Yes, Bob,” said the visitor. “There’s nothing like travel—seeing foreign countries, with some special pursuit to follow. I’m like a fish out of water now, with all this trouble in Egypt. Oh, hang the Khalifa, or Mahdi, or whatever they call him!”
“That’s what a good many people would like to do,” said the doctor drily.
“Like to? I should like to do it myself,” cried Landon, with his yellow face flushing. “The wretch, the impostor, the cruel, heartless brute! Poor Harry Frere! as handsome, manly, true-hearted a gentleman as ever breathed.”
Source: Gutenberg

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