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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"


"Batouch," she said, "you have been talking about us."
"No, Madame, I merely said that Madame is a great lady in her own land,
and that Monsieur--"
"I forbid you ever to speak about me, Batouch," said Androvsky,
brusquely.
He seemed worried by the clamour of the increasing mob that surrounded
them. Children in long robes like night-gowns skipped before them,
calling out in shrill voices. Old beggars, with diseased eyes and
deformed limbs, laid filthy hands upon their bridles and demanded alms.
Impudent boys, like bronze statuettes suddenly endowed with a fury
of life, progressed backwards to keep them full in view, shouting
information at them and proclaiming their own transcendent virtues
as guides. Lithe desert men, almost naked, but with carefully-covered
heads, strode beside them, keeping pace with the horses, saying nothing,
but watching them with a bright intentness that seemed to hint at
unutterable designs. And towards them, through the air that seemed heavy
and almost suffocating now that they were among buildings, and through
clouds of buzzing flies, came the noise of the larger tumult of the
market-place.


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