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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

He knew it was informal, but, as he said, in the
desert one forgets formalities."
"And--and did he ask for anything?"
"Ask?"
"I saw--on the table-coffee and--and there was liqueur."
"Naturally I offered him something."
"He didn't ask?"
"But, Boris, how could he?"
After a moment of silence he said:
"No, of course not."
He shifted in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, put his hands
on the arms of it, and continued:
"What did he talk about?"
"A little about Amara."
"That was all?"
"He hadn't been here long when you came--"
"Oh."
"But he told me one thing that was horrible," she added, obedient to her
instinct always to tell the complete truth to him, even about trifles
which had nothing to do with their lives or their relation to each
other.
"Horrible!" Androvsky said, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward in
his chair.
She sat down by him. They both had their backs to the light and were in
shadow.
"Yes."
"What was it about--some crime here?"
"Oh, no! It was about that liqueur you saw on the table."
Androvsky was sitting upon a basket chair.


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