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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

Domini's escort saw them and hesitated.
"I think, Madame, it would be better to take a side street," he said.
"Very well. Let us go to the left here. It is bound to bring us to the
hotel as it runs parallel to the house of the sand diviner."
He started.
"The sand-diviner?" he said in his low, strong voice.
"Yes."
She walked on into a tiny alley. He followed her.
"You haven't seen the thin man with the bag of sand?"
"No, Madame."
"He reads your past in sand from the desert and tells what your future
will be."
The man made no reply.
"Will you pay him a visit?" Domini asked curiously.
"No, Madame. I do not care for such things."
Suddenly she stood still.
"Oh, look!" she said. "How strange! And there are others all down the
street."
In the tiny alley the balconies of the houses nearly met. No figures
leaned on their railings. No chattering voices broke the furtive silence
that prevailed in this quarter of Beni-Mora. The moonlight was fainter
here, obscured by the close-set buildings, and at the moment there was
not an Arab in sight. The sense of loneliness and peace was profound,
and as the rare windows of the houses, minute and protected by heavy
gratings, were dark, it had seemed to Domini at first as if all the
inhabitants were in bed and asleep.


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