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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

"
And as she spoke she bent down her face with a sort of proud submission
and put her forehead against his heart.
The purity in her voice and in her quiet, simple action dazzled him like
a flame shining suddenly in his eyes out of blackness. And he, too, in
that moment saw far up above him the beating of an eagle's wings. To
each one the other seemed to be on high, and as both looked up that was
their true marriage.
"I felt it," he said, touching her hair with his lips. "I felt it in
your hands. When you touched me that day it was as if you were giving me
the world and the stars. It frightened me to receive so much. I felt as
if I had no place to put my gift in."
"Did your heart seem so small?" she said.
"You make everything I have and am seem small--and yet great. What does
it mean?"
"That you are great, as I am, because we love. No one is small who
loves. No one is poor, no one is bad, who loves. Love burns up evil.
It's the angel that destroys."
Her words seemed to send through his whole body a quivering joy. He took
her face between his hands and lifted it from his heart.
"Is that true? Is that true?" he said.


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