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Updated: June 19, 2025
Strange is that power which has led so many a criminal to the gallows by dragging him irresistibly back to the scene of the crime. It was some such force which had held Zulannah throughout the day.
And thus came it to be known in the bazaar that Zulannah the courtesan had returned to the great city.
Only let the decree go forth, and every one of us, at the end of a week or so, would by hook or by crook have acquired a distinctly peak-like appearance. But Kelham looked up, looked long, and smiled. "You are beautiful very beautiful the most beautiful woman I have seen save one." Zulannah recognised her defeat and in a whirl of rage and scented veils disappeared through the talik palms.
"Were't not a shame, were't not a loss for him In this clay carcase, crippled, to abide?" Well might old Omar ponder upon this. But Zulannah had a good reason for clinging to life, in spite of the greatness of her debacle. The metal of which had been wrought the one love that had come to her in her short life had not been able to withstand the crucible of physical pain.
Zulannah shook her head and turning it so that the wounds and distortion were hidden, leant against the wall. "Not yet!" she said, loosening with filthy hand the uncombed masses of jet-black hair, which still retained something of the perfume of better days. "Not yet! Let me think awhile." And she paid no heed to the man, who sat staring at her, breathing heavily.
The pack passed on to the bazaar, carrying with it the definite news of the return of the woman Zulannah; and if you had looked close you would have seen the cunning in the eyes of the man who had carried the hens; if you had listened to his whispered words you would have shivered at the ferocity of his counsel.
A beautiful wanton of fourteen summers, ambitious, relentless, with the eyes of an innocent child, the morals of a jackal and a fair supply of brain-cunning rather than intellect, Zulannah sat this night of stars in a corner of her balcony overlooking the Square, smoking endless cigarettes.
"Nay, mistress, there are six sons younger than thy slave, each one of which could break thee in one hand." Zulannah sprang to her feet and, seizing a short whip from a table, smote the man again and again until his face ran blood. "Thou vile brute, darest thou so to speak! Behold, this is but a foretaste of what will befall thy black carcase before the hour is spent."
The right side of her face, untouched and perfect, showed in all its beauty against the dirty whiteness of the wall; her hair served as a mantle to the perfect figure in the soiled satin wrap; her crippled limbs showed not at all in the foul room lit by a wick floating in a saucer of oil. The light went out suddenly. Oh, Zulannah! surely your cap of misery was full to the brim!
His face went grey; great beads of sweat showed upon his chest, his knees shook, then he fell on his face and covered his head with a corner of the green-yellow Kidderminster carpet, when a voice feebly craved for water and a small blood-stained hand weakly pulled at the straw. Zulannah was not dead.
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