eight o'clock in the evening
Fortunately , the Yarkand women are not forbidden to appear in the streets , which are bordered by simple mud huts , as they were at the time of the `` dadkwahs , '' or governors of the province . They can give themselves the pleasure of seeing and being seen , and this pleasure is shared in by the farangis -- as they call foreigners , no matter to what nation they may belong . They are very pretty , these Asiatics , with their long tresses , their transversely striped bodices , their skirts of bright colors , relieved by Chinese designs in Kothan silk , their high-heeled embroidered boots , their turbans of coquettish pattern , beneath which appear their black hair and their eyebrows united by a bar . A few Chinese passengers alighted at Yarkand , and gave place to others exactly like them -- among others a score of coolies -- and we started again at eight o'clock in the evening . During the night we ran the three hundred and fifty kilometres which separate Yarkand from Kothan . A visit I paid to the front van showed me that the box was still in the same place . A certain snoring proved that Kinko was inside as usual , and sleeping peacefully .