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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

"
She lowered her voice at the last words. After a moment she added:
"Perhaps in isolation, even with you, I could not come to completeness.
Perhaps you could not in isolation even with me. Boris, I think it's
good for us to be in the midst of life for a time."
"You wish to remain here, Domini?"
"Yes, for a time."
The fatalistic feeling that had sometimes come upon her in this land
entered into her at this moment. She felt, "It is written that we are to
remain here."
"Let us remain here, Domini," he said quietly.
The note of disappointment had gone out of his voice, deliberately
banished from it by his love for her, but she seemed to hear it,
nevertheless, echoing far down in his soul. At that moment she loved him
like a woman he had made a lover, but also like a woman he had made a
mother by becoming a child.
"Thank you, Boris," she answered very quietly. "You are good to me."
"You are good to me," he said, remembering the last words of Father
Roubier. "How can I be anything else?"
Directly he had spoken the words his body trembled violently.
"Boris, what is it?" she exclaimed, startled.


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