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Updated: June 7, 2025
She was silent, looking at him almost abstractedly. "This war'll be over pretty soon now," he continued, "and we'll all have to go back to work." "Isn't this work?" Al'mah asked with a smile, which had in it something of her old whimsical self. "It ain't play, and it ain't work," he answered with a sage frown of intellectual effort. "It's a cut above 'em both that's my fancy."
"Fate seems to scatter, and then to gather in all at once, as though we were all feather-toys on strings." After a moment, as Al'mah regarded her with vague wonder, though now she smiled too, and the anxiety, apprehension, and pain went from her face, Jasmine said: "Why did you come here? You had a world to work for in England." "I had a world to forget in England," Al'mah replied.
He never did any harm that I ever heard of and this is his house, and these are his guests. He would, I'll stake my life, do Al'mah a good turn if he could, even if it cost him something quite big. He is that kind of a man. He would be hurt to know that you had let the best people of the county be parched, when you could give them drink."
Besides, he had his own reasons for feeling no particular fear where Byng was concerned. His glance ran from Byng's face to that of Jasmine; but, though her eyes met his, there was nothing behind her glance which had to do with Al'mah.
She sat up straight in the seat of the cart, her hands clinched. No, no, no, Rudyard was not dead, and he should not die. It mattered not what Al'mah had written, she must have her chance to prove herself; his big soul must have its chance to run a long course, must not be cut off at the moment when so much had been done; when there was so much to do.
He did not know what Al'mah had told Jasmine, the thing which had cleared Jasmine's vision, and made possible a path which should lead from the hospital to the house among the orchard-trees at Brinkwort's Farm. No, he would not, could not go to Jasmine unless, it might be, she was dying. A sudden, sharp anxiety possessed him.
We shall need it yes we shall need cheering very badly before we've done. We're not going to have a walk-over in South Africa. Cheering up is what we want, and we must have it." Again he cast a queer, inquiring look at Al'mah, to which he got no response, and to himself he said, grimly: "Well, it's better she should not know it here." His mind was in a maze. He moved as in a dream.
She may mean to hate, and will end by loving. She may mean to kiss and will end by killing. She may kiss and kill too all in one moment, and still not be inconsistent. She would have the logic of a woman. How do I know what I would do what I will do!" The door of the hospital opened. A surgeon came out, and seeing Al'mah, moved towards the two.
His eye caught the portrait of Al'mah on the mantelpiece. He went over and stood looking at it musingly. "You were a good girl," he said, aloud. "At any rate, you wouldn't pretend. You'd gamble with your immortal soul, but you wouldn't sell it not for three millions, not for a hundred times three millions. Or is it that you are all alike, you women?
Byng had only seen Al'mah twice since the day when she first came to his rooms, and not at all during the past two years, save at the opera, where she tightened the cords of captivity to her gifts around her admirers. Al'mah had never met Mrs. Byng since the day after that first production of "Manassa," when Rudyard rescued her, though she had seen her at the opera again and again.
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