By Jane Lindskold

Plucky younger Jenny Benet, a lately orphaned American lady who used to be raised at the Wild West frontier and trained at a Boston completing university, has come to Egypt in corporation together with her uncle Neville Hawthorne, a fashionable British archaeologist. they're a part of a workforce investigating the mythical Buried Pyramid, the tomb of the pharaoh Neferankhotep -- who can also were Moses the Lawgiver.But they don't seem to be the single ones attracted to the positioning. one other social gathering, led by means of the opulent and treacherous girl Audrey Cheshire, is shadowing theirs. anyone who symptoms himself "The Sphinx" has been sending threatening letters -- written solely in hieroglyphics. In Egypt, an old and shadowy association turns out made up our minds to maintain the tomb from being discovered.But mortals is probably not all that stands of their means.

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No doubt,” Neville agreed. He noted that despite her efforts at self-control, Jenny had been forced to pat back a yawn. “Come along, my dear,” he said, helping her to rise. “We can talk more later. ” Jenny smiled sheepishly. ” Neville settled with the shop, then handed Jenny into a cab. She fell asleep almost before the cab had rattled into traffic, her head drooping trustingly onto his shoulder as her mother’s had twenty years before. The jet beads trimming the crown of her hat trembled with the motion of the cab, tickling Neville’s cheek a little like tears.

He seated himself in one of the high backed overstuffed chairs that remained from his parents’ day, steepled his fingers, and began: “This morning I went out and investigated options for you here in London while I am away. I spoke with Lady Lindenmeade, a good friend of your grandparents. She has said she would be delighted to have you stay with her while I am abroad. The Lindenmeades are quite well connected, and one of Lady Lindenmeade’s granddaughters is coming out this year. I am certain you would receive the best introductions.

Mrs. Syms. ” They parted company with appropriate insincerities, and Neville managed a swallow of tea while Jenny settled her cumbersome skirts. “Well, Uncle? ” “I was about to tell you,” he said rather stiffly. She raised her rose-painted tea cup and sipped, neither helping nor hindering his explanation. Neville found himself saying rather more than he had intended. “Your parents’ deaths, that was the start. I had long meant to visit Alice in her new home, to see with my own eyes the life she described so vividly in her letters.

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