Excerpt from The Holy City: Jerusalem II
It was a hot August in Palestine. Every day the sun beat down upon the heads of the people. There was not a cloud on the sky and no rain had fallen since April. Though not any hotter than it is wont to be at this season, it was almost unbearable. How one would ever be able to endure such heat one hardly knew, or where one could go to escape it.
Jaffa was perhaps the best refuge - not in the city itself, with its buildings crowded closely together on a steep hill, and where a sickening stench arose from the filthy streets and the large soap factories; but the town lay close by the sea, which always brought some freshening breeze. And one could be fairly comfortable in the environs, as Jaffa was surrounded by hundreds of orange groves, where the fruit hung fresh and cool, protected from the blasting sunlight by its stiff and glossy dark-green foliage.
But how insufferably hot it was even in Jaffa! The big leaves of the tall, resinous shrubs were dry and shriveled and the hardy pelargoniums, no longer able to flower, lay drooping on mounds and in hollows - almost buried beneath billows of dust.
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