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Updated: May 16, 2025
Everything is ordained, so why should I bother? I will live for the day. I will live for the night. Allah-Akbar, Allah-Akbar!" The sound of water gushing from a reversed tumbler into a full basin was followed by the reappearance of Lord Holme, looking very clean and very sleepy. Lady Holme stopped swaying.
She had thrust her bare feet into white slippers without heels, and now she drew up her legs lightly and easily and crossed them under her, assuming an Eastern attitude and the expression of supreme impassivity which suits it. A long mirror was just opposite to her. She swayed to and fro, looking into it. "Allah-Akbar!" she murmured. "Allah-Akbar! I am a fatalist.
She remembered the night when she softly drew up the hood of her dressing-gown above her head and, rocking herself to and fro, murmured the "Allah-Akbar" of a philosophic fatalist "I will live for the day. I will live for the night." What an absurd patter that was on the lips of a woman. And she remembered the conversation with Fritz that had preceded her monologue.
For all the voices from the outside courts joined it, and many voices from the roofs of the houses round about. Men were praying there too, praying in the glare of the sun upon their housetops. She saw them from the minaret, and she saw the town that had sprung up round the tomb of the saint, and all the palms of the oasis, and beyond them immeasurable spaces of desert. "Allah-Akbar! Allah-Akbar!"
This was a world intense with prayer as a flame is intense with heat, with prayer penetrating and compelling, urgent in its persistence, powerful in its deep and sultry concentration, yet almost oppressive, almost terrible in its monotony. "Allah-Akbar! Allah-Akbar!" It was the murmur of the desert and the murmur of the sun.
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