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Updated: May 29, 2025
A few minutes afterwards she was riding by Habeebah's side into the town, through the Bab Toot across the Feddan, and up to the courtyard of the Kasbah, which had witnessed the beginning of her own and her father's degradation.
She had seen nothing but her father in Fatimah's protest, just as she had seen nothing but her father in Habeebah's promises. She did not know what to do, she was such a poor weak little thing, and there was no strong hand to guide her. They led her through dark passages to an open place which she thought she had seen before. It was a great patio, paved and walled with tiles.
"Sidi," said Habeebah, "I have promised that you will liberate her father." "Fetch her," said Ben Aboo, "and it shall be done." But meanwhile Fatimah had gone to Habeebah's room and found Naomi there, and heard of the vain hope which had brought her. "My sweet jewel of gold and silver," the black woman cried, "you don't know what you are doing.
For some days after the night when her emancipated tongue had rescued Israel from his enemies on the Sok, she seemed to say nothing beyond "Yes" and "No," notwithstanding Ali's eager questions, and Fatimah's tearful blessings, and Habeebah's breathless invocations, and also notwithstanding the hunger and thirst of the heart of her father, who, remembering with many throbs of joy the voice that he heard with his dreaming ears when he slept on the straw bed of the poor fondak at Wazzan, would have given worlds of gold, if he had possessed them still, to hear it constantly with his waking ears.
The differences of faith were less than nothing, but her father was everything, and so she clutched at Habeebah's bold promises like a drowning soul at the froth of a breaker. "My father will be let out of prison? You are sure quite sure?" she asked. "Quite sure," answered Habeebah stoutly.
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