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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

"
"But then, one might learn to hate it."
"I don't think so. Truth does just the same, you know. And yet men keep
on trying to draw near."
"But sometimes they succeed."
"Do they? Not when they live in gardens."
He laughed for the first time since they had been together, and all his
face was covered with a network of little moving lines.
"One should never live in a garden, Madame."
"I will try to take your word for it, but the task will be difficult."
"Yes? More difficult, perhaps, when you see what lies beside my thoughts
of truth."
As he spoke they came out from the tunnel and were seized by the fierce
hands of the sun. It was within half an hour of noon, and the radiance
was blinding. Domini put up her parasol sharply, like one startled. She
stopped.
"But how tremendous!" she exclaimed.
Count Anteoni laughed again, and drew down the brim of his grey hat
over his eyes. The hand with which he did it was almost as burnt as an
Arab's.
"You are afraid of it?"
"No, no. But it startled me. We don't know the sun really in Europe."
"No. Not even in Southern Italy, not even in Sicily.


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