[I] rode out with Saiyed Hashem to visit the site of ‘a very ancient city’ not far from the qasr, which must have been a village of mud huts built fifty years ago—I know too well the Arab's sense of time and space (in fact there was not a stone to be seen and what m companion described as the ancient city wall is a semi-circular ridge not more than five hundred feet long); but I started to say that the boy who walked behind my thelul, or according to the standard Oxford spelling zelul¹ (my literary friends in America, who have accused me of eccentricity in the transliteration of Arabic words of which I know the pronunciation and, therefore, how they should be written, will not blame me, I hope, for following deferentially the learned Arabists of Oxford)—but what about the boy that was walking behind my zelul?

to repair a house, a road, a shoe, a ship

I don't think you ready for this jelly / I don't think you ready for this / 'Cause my body too bootylicious for ya, babe

... to sell it to the Mond or the International Nickel Company, and if they didn't choose to take it from us, they would tell us to go jump in the lake.