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Show while he slept the sleep of the fool, she had crossed the gulf. He believed he hated her. And he kept on fingering his gun. Yes, he hated her, and he had a right to hate her. He said that to himself dully. There was not a living Englishman who would not condemn her. She had put herself out of court. Even now he did not say to himself that she had committed the worst It was not necessary to say He knew enough without that. For now he was sure that when he had to Benchaalal by the river she been there. She had been with the Arab, and when he, her husband, had come she had hidden from him. That was enough. He wished he had killed her in her hiding-place. The desert was growing darker. He got up from the rock and turned to go down to the gorge. XII BENCHAALAL sat cross-legged in a corner of the principal cafe maure of the brown village of ElAkbara. This cafe was situated on the high-road that led to the desert, , and was opposite to the Arab cemetery- a quantity of upright stones fixed in the hard, sun-dried earth, without wall or fence to guard the homes of the dead from intruders. Outside the cafe was a sort of arbor made of reeds. In this squatted four or five Arabs playing dominoes. But within the cafe there was no one but ' the Spahi and the bare -legged attendant who served the coffee, which he took from a niche of earth in which '"' |