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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Garden of Allah"

After a moment she spoke again, quietly.
"Boris, you never wished to stay here. You meant to stay here for me.
Let us go away from Amara. Let us go to-day, now, in the dawn."
"Us!" he said.
There was a profound amazement in his voice.
"Yes," she answered.
"Away from Amara--you and I--together?"
"Yes, Boris, together."
"Where--where can we go?"
The amazement seemed to deepen in his voice. His eyes were watching her
with an almost fierce intentness. In a flash of insight she realised
that, just then, he was wondering about her as he had never wondered
before, wondering whether she was really the good woman at whose feet
his sin-stricken soul had worshipped. Yes, he was asking himself that
question.
"Boris," she said, "will you leave yourself in my hands? We have talked
of our future life. We have wondered what we should do. Will you let me
do as I will, let the future be as I choose?"
In her heart she said "as God chooses."
"Yes, Domini," he answered. "I am in your hands, utterly in your hands."
"No," she said.
Neither of them spoke after that till the sunlight lay above the towers
and minarets of Amara.


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