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Updated: June 20, 2025
He would not go with that pair of lovers for his own pleasure, and no suffering he could endure, even in the Bat d'Aff, would be equal to seeing Sanda day after day, night after night, when she had given herself to Stanton. All he wanted was to be near her if he were needed.
Among these men of mystery or sorrow there were, however, few startling types which caught the eye. But one man young, tall, straight as an arrow running the gauntlet of jokes and stares with fierce, repressed defiance, turned suddenly to look at Max and Sanda. Where to place him in life, Max could not tell.
Max heard it through the scratching of the beetle in his brain. Sanda! Yes, Sanda might care a little, a very little, when she had time to think of him Sanda, who loved another man, but had promised to be his friend. He thought of her eyes as they had looked at him that day in the Salle d'Honneur. He thought of her hair, her long, soft hair.... "She'd be sorry if I let go," he said to himself.
At such times the host sat with a beaming smile on his black face, and his huge mouth half-expanded, looking from one to another, as if attempting to understand, and ready at a moment's notice to explode in laughter, or admiration, or enthusiasm, according to circumstances. "Hamed Pasha wants to know if you is in do army," said Sanda Pasha.
She had arrived at Djazerta and had travelled to the douar when the family hastily flitted; but this was the night of her best dance. Nobody remembered Khadra. When she was close behind Sanda she pretended to drop a big silk handkerchief, such as Arab women love.
His daughter was still safe under his own roof, and it was not an unexpected blow to him that she should have wished to escape from Tahar. He knew in his heart that Ourïeda was more to blame than Sanda, and seeing shame on the young, pale face of the Roumia he had no fear of anything George DeLisle's daughter might report to her father.
He wore a short black beard that, although thick, showed the shape of a heavy jaw; and his wide-open, quivering nostrils gave him the look of a bad-tempered horse. Although he could speak French, he seemed to the girl singularly alien and remote. Sanda wondered if he had a wife, or wives, and pitied any Arab woman unfortunate enough to be shut up in his harem.
"I told him in Algiers when I was so miserable, thinking that I should never see you again, and that you didn't care." "Of course I cared," Stanton contradicted her warmly; yet there was a difference in his tone. To Max's ears, it did not ring true. "Seeing a grown-up Sanda, when I'd always kept in my mind's eye a little girl, bowled me over.
At dawn Sanda sat beside Max in his tent, where two of the few men who remained had carried him. Through the hideous hours he had lain as one dead. But light, touching his eyelids, waked him with a shuddering start. "You!" he whispered. "Safe! I've had horrible dreams." "Only dreams," she soothed him. "How pale you are!" He stared at her, still half dazed. "Perhaps it's the light."
At first it seemed to Sanda that she could not do what Ourïeda asked. With tears she said no, they must think of some other way. And the Little Rose did not argue or plead. She answered only that she had thought, and there was no other way but the one which Sanda had refused.
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