Word: turbaning
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...have seen him pass unembarrassed through these startling metamorphoses. A few months ago he was named governor of Morocco, with the expectation that he would put down the Mohammedan revolt which has robbed Spain of all Morocco except the seaports. But no, after a few months in the executive turban, Raisuli has returned to an alliance with his nominal enemy, Abd-el-Krim...
...have a lot of thrills of the kind you mean. The provinces of Honan, Chensi and Chansi are infested with rascally bandits, discharged soldiers, especially around Loyang. In the western provinces, the bandits are no less numerous, but here they are Mohammedans who are called Chanto, or turban-people, by the Chinese. Any one of these would stick you in the back for 20 cents, but they are a rough, genial sort, and are a problem to the Chinese in Kansu. Around the Yellow River and Huang Ho, Field Marshal Wu Bel Fu rules with an iron hand...
...have a lot of thrills of the kind you mean. The provinces of Honan, Chensi and Chansi are infested with rascally bandits, discharged soldiers, especially around Loyang. In the western provinces, the bandits are no less numerous, but here they are Mohammedans who are called Chanto, or turban-people, by the Chinese. Any one of these would stick you in the back for 20 cents, but they are a rough, genial sort, and are a problem to the Chinese in Kansu. Around the Yellow River and Huang Ho, Field Marshal Wu Bel Fu rules with an iron hand...
...have a lot of thrills of the kind you mean. The provinces of Honan, Chensi and Chansi are infested with rascally bandits, discharged soldiers, especially around Loyang. In the western provinces, the bandits are no less numerous, but here they are Mohammedans who are called Chanto, or turban-people, by the Chinese. Any one of these would stick you in the back for 20 cents, but they are a rough, genial sort, and are a problem to the Chinese in Kansu. Around the Yellow River and Huang Ho, Field Marshal Wu Bel Fu rules with an iron hand...
...learned call the Koran of our ignorance. Yet even here all was not peace and pleasantness, for I heard my name called by a small voice, in a tone of patient, subdued querulousness. Looking hastily round, I with some difficulty recognized, in a green turban and slid gown to match, my old college tutor and professor of Arabic. Poor old Jones had been the best and the most shy of university men. As there was never any undergraduate in his time (it is different now) who wished to learn Arabic, his place had been a sinecure, and he had chiefly...