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Updated: May 28, 2025
And in the centre of it all, a little king, Ci Hamed Ghralmia a pale, café-au-lait complexioned man, who looked as if life had never shown him one of its angles.
They were allowed to come out on to the staircase and talk to us; but when the interview had lasted five minutes, Ci Hamed Ghralmia clapped his hands twice we had seen enough every wife and every slave vanished like magic.
The Moor who entertained us was a certain Ci Hamed Ghralmia, the eldest son of a Government official who had fattened physically and financially on the Customs, and whose fine house represented so many perquisites and bribes, and so much pared off the lump sum which went annually up to the Sultan.
Ci Hamed Ghralmia was an "advanced" Moor that is to say, in the afternoons, lying on his divan, he read Arabic books. He had bought some French knick-knacks too. He told us that he rented a shop, in which he sat in the mornings and chatted to his friends, using it not in any way to dispose of any goods, of which it was devoid, but as a sort of "club" or meeting-place.
Then in the afternoons he occasionally rode out on his mule. He had a garden, I think, outside the city. Or he played chess with a friend, or read. Thirty years of this life in Tetuan found Ci Hamed Ghralmia still a contented man supremely so. Wrapped in the finest white wool and muslin clothes, he lay along a divan opposite to us upon one elbow, the picture of ease, and talked away.
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