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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

Well, to-day I wish to make a thank-offering
to the desert."
"What has it done for you?"
"Who knows? Who knows?"
He laughed aloud, almost like a boy. Androvsky glanced at him with a
sort of wondering envy.
"And I want you to share in my little distribution," he added. "And
you, Monsieur, if you don't mind. There are moments when--Open the gate,
Smain!"
His ardour was infectious and Domini felt stirred by it to a sudden
sense of the joy of life. She looked at Androvsky, to include him in
the rigour of gaiety which swept from the Count to her, and found him
staring apprehensively at the Count, who was now loosening the string
of the bag. Smain had reached the gate. He lifted the bar of wood and
opened it. Instantly a crowd of dark faces and turbaned heads were
thrust through the tall aperture, a multitude of dusky hands fluttered
frantically, and the cry of eager voices, saluting, begging, calling
down blessings, relating troubles, shrieking wants, proclaiming virtues
and necessities, rose into an almost deafening uproar. But not a
foot was lifted over the lintel to press the sunlit sand.


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