Page Four

SPEOPLE

"ADVOCATE

_ skuUSUSt <f, toni

On the

BORDER A Short Story of th

by Mulk Raj Anand
in the Lett Review

ree

... to bring soldiers to shoot the sons of Adam.”

Over the!
Georgia Military Road

By FAY GOLDIE
(Contd. from Aug. 13 issue)

— stopped for refresh-

ment at one of the
isolated, stone built villages
that had replaced the or-
chard-hamlets. The air held
the sting of snow. From the
window I could see, as I ate my
hard-boiled eggs and sour black
bread, the ancient Georgian mon-
astery of Tsminda-Sameba, where
in times of war all the riches of
Tiflis used to be brought and
stored away for safety. How men
ever scaled those sheer granite
walls was a mystery to me.

Tt began to rain early in the
afternoon, and increased in viol-
ence until we were forced to take
shelter in a shepherd’s cottage.
I had been anxious to visit one of
these mountain homes, and wel-
comed the opportunity. A very
old Gossack shepherd also tray-
elling to Tiflis in our bus, in-
sisted on wrapping his sheep-skin
coat round me before we drove
through the rain to shelter.

it was a characteristic gesture.
Wherever I went in the Soviet
Union—and fT travelled quite
alone, hard class throughout—l
met most wonderful kindness and
courtesy from all types and na-
tionalities of people. The spirit
of comradeship common through-
out Russia is something that
simply cannot be nailed down
With words. :

*

i continued on our way when
the storm abated. We were
approaching the snow-fields. It
was freezinely cold. Occasionally
we would pass ancient villages
buried in deep gorges, or clinging
like lichen to the walls of the
mountains.

For some time after the revolu-
tion these people opposed the new
system. They were backward and
warlike, but the patience and tol-
erance which has been displayed
in winning them over to Socialism
is now bearing remarkable fruit
Schools have been established
where the people are being taught
in their own languages, hospitals
and decent houses have been built
in the villages. Instead of leading
the isolated existence which they
did in pre-revolutionary days, they
are kept in touch with current
events by means of the radio, and
jiterature printed in their partic-
ular. dialects.

T noon we found ourselves in
a white world. Sleet was
falling, and dense black clouds
pressed down about us. Our road
had ben cut through great glaciers
in Many places, and a tunnel was
in course of construction which
is to take the road traffic when
completed. This tunnel has a spe-
cially constructed sloping metal
roof, and the walls are of stone
and reinforced concrete.

Snow-fields stretched as far as
one could see. A simple cross
marked the summit of the Pass.
The road zig-zagged in a series
of breath-taking hairpin bends
that our driver took, in true Rus-
sian style, practically on two
wheels only. I became immune to
shock after a time, resigning my-
self to my fate, and even the fact
that the world dropped away al-
together on one side of the high-
way, and one looked down into
a bottomless sea of mist, lost its
thrill and ceased to disturb me.

We passed through rain, hail,
sleet and snow before we were
free of the snow-fields, and again
swept past emerald slopes patched
with melting snow, and closely
patterned with snow-drops and
buttereups. There were no side

HE walked along the edge
of a deserted millet field
towards the molten lava of
the copper-colored Swat hills
looking for a track where a
herd of donkeys or £0ats
might have passed. She had come
out from the village in the scorch-
ing heat of the afternoon to col-
ject animal dung to burn for fuel,
as, apart from an occasional tangle
of thorns or rough scrub, wood
was difficult to get for the earthen
oven in her hovel amid the cluster
ef mud huts on the plateau. She
looked this side and that, but
could not see a sign of man or
beast in the waste land within
the range of her sharp hawk’s
eyes.

She stood for a moment on 2
promontory, and shading her eyes
against the torrid glare of the:sun
with the inverted palm of her left
and while her right hand held
the basket on her head, looked
up to the hill tops for a bush, as
she was sure that some donkey or
goat would have strayed away

from a herd, in spite of its driver, _

for a nibble among the thorns.

But there was no sign, even of
a blade of parched grass. Only the
low hills unfolded their protuber-
ant bellies before her yision, end-
lessly above the valley, blood-red
and purple, and white where the
misty haze of the earth arose to
the even sky like a stifled, hot
sigh.

She began to walk again as parts
of her feet which touched the
burning earth through the holes
in the soles of her shoes chafed,
the pads which she had made of
those strips of papers the ma-
chine birds had dropped on the
village in the morning having
slipped out.

“We promised to bring back
shoes for me,” she said to herself
with a fuming heart, “and now he
has broken all of his vows.” For
so it seemed to her, since she
hadn’t heard even a breath or a
word from his own mouth through
any of the men who had come
back from Peshawar, except the
rumor that he had been put be-
hind prison bars by the angrezi
Sarkar for listening to talk of
Khan Sahib, the brother of Ithan
Abdul Gaffar Khan.

A hot breeze cooled by the
shadow of the basket on her head
fanned her cheeks into the red
flush of a pomegranate, and she
strode alone lighter at the touch
of her memory, which was not so
much a thought in her words, but
a feeling in her belly—a quiverins
of the nerves.

He did the most outrageous
things: ‘Karima, daughter of Ab-
dul Rahman, whose cheeks are
the envy of the pomegranate and
the rose. . =? He used to sing the
refrain of the well-worn ballad,
half-teasinely, half-meaningly, and
then gather her into his embrace
in spite of her protests, at any
time of the day or night, when
the fancy took him, and her
cheeks used to get warmer and
warmer till she felt they would
burst with the burning.

And now she felt the ache of an
emptiness in her belly, impalpable
and intangible like a thirst in the
dawn. And now she felt the stir
ring of a dim memory of the
rustling of her crumpled shirt and
trousers as he crushed her in his
arms, the subtle discomfort of the
sudden ruffling and the spoilation
of her ease that soon melted into
the aura of a luxury, and left her
suffused with the shame of a
blush and the happiness of a deep,
rich silence, uncannily like the
silence of this wild, except that the
hush of the land was interrupted
by the whining of the flies, the
humming of a corn beetle some-
where. <

We was a devil whether he was

at work in the fields, ploughing
and harvesting, or at home... He
was a fool.

><

HE lifted her eyes from the
head that was bent under the
basket and scanned the hills again.
From the liquescent shades of her
remembrance the form of her child
emerged, soft and tender and
fresh, with his father’s smell about

his little limbs ivine beneath the
pupils of her eves, while the hard.
bare earth blazed in a cruei fire
before her faze, glowing like the
live coal in her earthen oven
among the cinders, covered with
a coating of ash. She could not
yet see a Sign of man or beast
and she felt the panic of a smould-
ering rage and resentment rising
in her bosom.

For Shamus had been away-a
year now, as the Ramzan fasts
bad just ended before he went.
And he had been caught by the
Sarkar and imprisoned, she didn’t
know for how long.

Oh, if only she Knew, she said
to the rocks; if only she knew, she
said to the silence; if oniy she
knew that he wasn’t dead, she
said to the heavens in a trance.
If only she knew, she said to her-
self, that he was alive, she would
go on working day and night for
the angrezi Sarkar, breaking
stones on the read that the white
men were taking into Waziristan.

But she brushed the delicate
skin of her forehead which was
covered with sweat and shaking

her colorful stmps of rags as a
hen shakes her feathers, to ease
her body from the clammminess of
perspiration, she thought Shamus
wouldn't like it if he knew that
she had been working for a living,

breaking stones for the white
men.
For it was rumored they were

building this road in order to bring
their soldiers to shoot the sons of
Adam. But what could she have
done. She had to live and Keep the
child. F

The tiers of land on the moun-
fain side which Shamus had
ploughed for maize and millet were
difficult for a woman to till, and
the harvest of the year before had

heen exhausted before the spring. -

And, she had taken this job, which
Was precarious, because the white
men paid an anna a day for work-
ing from dawn to midday and an
anna and a half for working from
dawn till night, besides which she
and the other women who toiled
thus had got a bad name and the
Mullah was threatening to de-
clare them heretics.

But she had a clear conscience
before the Prophet of Allah, be-
cause when one of the soldiers had
whistled to her and given her a
sly wink, she had flashed her
scythe at him, and he had turned
red and moyed away, and since
then all the soldiers said she was
like a tigress, and never came neal
her.

“~The father of Rahmat will ‘ind
me exactly as he left me,” she
said, ‘‘and I shall feed his child by
any means I can whatever the
people say. How big a boy he is
already, and mischievous like his
father. Surely he will be lke
Shamus in strength, with the
black eyes and eagle nose of his

father. Now, he might have
awakened in my absence, and fi
am still wandering. - .”

HE stood for a moment again
at the edge of a rock and
scanned the depths of a waterless
ravine in which the particles of
sand glistened like the sparks of
lizhtning which sometimes flashed
from the stones under her ham-
mer.

There was a pool of water
somewhere here, she remembered,
where the cattle came to drink.
The rock on which she stood was
hot, like the burning iron in the
smith’s shop, and she shifted her
feet and glanced all around her
impatiently. Perhaps the pool was
pehind that huge boulder, which
looked grey and white. She would
step down into the ravine and see
if there was any dry dung there.
There was a bush of berry trees,
too, on a side of the ravine, and
the goats—‘Ah, by the grace of
Allah,’ there were the droppings
of a whole herd undemeath the
shadow of a rock.

She jumped down from the
of the precipice on which
<tood to a foothold on another
sharply cut like @ slate.

There were holes in the clay
crevices below the slate, and she
was slightly afraid, because the

edge
she
rock

e Indian Northwest F rontier

fissures in these mountains often
harbored snakes.

She descended a step, and then,
as if impelled by the sheer fascina-
tion of curiosity, she stopped, bent
her head and looked into a hole,
and probed it with her left foot

A sharp, purring noise. . - -

And though sHe was certain it
was not from the hole into which
she had probed, she went hurthne
down into the ravine, jumping
from stone to stone, in a hurry
and stood shaking at the base, her
legs trembling involuntarily. And
for a moment everything shim-
mered before her dizzy head, and
she could only hear the hammer
of her heart pounding at her
breasts.

But from where she stood, she
couldn’t help looking back to see
if it was a snake or a wild cat,
eyen though her legs were shaking
beneath her, and her breath was
held back in her throat against
her will.

The purring noise now became
a prolonged drone, and it was not
from the hole in the crevices at all,
or from the ravine, but from some-
where in the sky above.

She lifted her head and jumped
up to the boulder from which she
jad descended, fillings courage into
her heart and willing strength in-
to her body. She nearly slipped
from the glazed stone and shak-
ing like a tree in a storm, missed
a heart beat. But then she
scrambled up to the rock.

>.
GAINST the transparent haze
of the even sky where the

sunrays trembled like the smoke
of a furnace, droves of steel birds
were wheeling like the ominous
white eagles before the coming of
a famine, and were excreting: solid
vessels of dung on the Steppe.

Before she had breathed another
breath, one of the vessels struck
the edge of a plateau near the
house of Din Gul, the blacksmith,
and burst with a terrific explo-
sion, raising a cloud of dust into
the sky. 5

The loud purr of the machines
now became the reverberatiny
sweep of an* endless thunder,
erackine up the heavens with
such a sharp lightning that the
Judgement Day promised by the
Ioran seemed to have come.

Another vessel fell with a
mighty bang louder than the
breaking of a hundred pitchers,

and tore up heavy mounds from
the side of the naked earth into a
spray like the spurt of water oo0z-
ing from a broken fountain. And
another, another and another. ..- .-

‘My child, my child!’ she eried
in a voice that wouldn’t rise above
her throat. And she ran toward
the village.

The steel birds had multiplied,
and now dived from one end of
the horizon to the other with a
metallic, monotonous whine, lke
the hosts of the devil in the hell
of a torn sky and an upturned
earth, and the universe seemed to
be engulfed in that lons-drawn-
out agony promised by the Prophet
on the breaking up of the ele-
ments. But she could yet feel the
earth under her feet, through the
deafening roar and the clouds of
dust before her dizzying vision.

She ran and ran till the taking
of each step was an unendurable
ache in her stiffening loins. She
jumped over ditches and skipped
over the desert of stones and
boulders. She could not see the
hundred yards that separated her
from the mud huts. But she must
set there, though her body be tom
into tatters through heat and ex-
haustion; though her bones break:
she must get there. JE only she
could tuke the distance in one long
jump; if only she could roll down
a hillock and cover the vast, un-
ending distance! Onlr, if only: . -.

She tried to put determination
into her failing less by slowing
down, but the bursting of another
bag of pitchers held her heart,
and the colossal shaking of the
earth arrested her feet. And as
she saw a rent as deep as a wall
before her, She stood stunned.
Then she capered aside and rallied
her trembling body into a furious
rush, and went half-moaning, half
sighing: “Ob, my child; oh, my

chilid®’ And as she ran the bot-
tom of hope was falling from the
pit of her stomach.

A sudden resurgence of her will,
and she stopped to breath a few
breaths. But the noise of erack-
inf= earth was frightening, and she
lifted her head to the aeroplanes
with an appeal in her terror-
stricken eyes, with an abject wish
they should spare her and her
child.

*

UT before her now the mud
huts were burning, smoulder-
ing, while here and there on the
outer fringes they were in ruins.
And men and women were run-
ning out, startled and terrified,
stumbing and falling, seeking shel-
ter behind huge stones and boul-
ders, and dragging their wailing
children behind them.

The steel birds came whining
ever the village again and swept
the dark clouds of the rising
smoke aside with the terrific
detonation of more vessels of lead.
She stopped once more against her
will and looked up to the planes
with a hatred that churned the
bitter taste in her mouth into a
white froth; she lifted he: -Tists up
to the sky with a wild movement
of revenge, and then waited as if
to see whether the force of her
hatred had destroyed them.

But the steel birds purred across
the valley from side to side, rain-
ing bomb after bomb on the
neighborhood. She moaned a ter
rible, helpless moan, that was half-
sob and half-shriek, and ran fran-
tically forward, erying: “My child-
@h, my child! Oh, save my child!”

“Stop there, the mother of
Rahmat,” shouted Abdul Mejid, the
brother of the Mullah, who was
shooting his powder gun at the
steel birds under cover of the pot-
ter’s wheel.

But she rushed along as if She
were drawn by the fear that a
sudden darkness would envelop her
eyes.

“Stop, you foolish woman,”
Mejid ‘said, extending his arm to
bar her way.

But she struggled against the
stiff muscles of his hand with all
the resistance of her body, weeping
without tears in her eyes, and cery—
ing a shrill wail: “My child! Let
me go! Oh, let me go and save my
child!”

“The village is burning. Don’t
you see, mad woman,” Mejid
shouted. ‘‘Those sons of the devil
have annihilated it.”

“Tet me go, let me go,” she
walied and bit his hand with her
teeth.

He withdrew his arm as if he
had been stung by a scorpion, and
was left standing with an impotent
rage that Seemed to quench the
enersy of his flesh and congeal
the blood in his eyes:

“By Allah,” he erowled, “‘they
will not wipe out all the sons of
Adam who are free.

x
SS had darted past Abdul Mejid
into the smouldering ruins of
the eulley, only to find that the
burning beams of the mud huts
over the debris of ruined walls
barred her way.

For the Sriefest moment she
stood afraid of jumping across the
fire. Then she ground her teeth,
closed her eyes, murmured Bismil-
lah, and shot through the leaping
flames.

She almost fell on a mound of
the other side, but recoyered her
balance and ran, gathering her
elothes about her and hissing
hysterically. 5

A bomb burst ahead of her in
the courtyard of the mosque; the
flames of fire swept aimlessly in
places with a frightening’ violence;
and the constellations in the sky
seemed to hurl themselves on the
earth in the final throes of a uni-
verse doomed to live in darkness
after the angel Gabriel had fin-
ished his werk of destruction.

But her feet were still firm on
the earth through the lashings of
the burning, scalding, suffocatine
heat. And as she capered from one
bare mound of crumbling wall to
another, she was trying to see how
her child would be lying among the
ruins, From the searred, jagged
edges of all the broken houses it

\

curtains to our bus, and we had
been drenched several times, so we
rolled back our hood and thawed
gratefully in the strong pure sun-
shine of the foothills, while I
watched the needle of the speedo-
meter creep up to sixty mph and
stay there, trembling. Speed, like
time, has quite a different signi-
ficance for the Russian to that
which it has for us.

*

WW entered Mtskhet late in the
afternoon. Every garden was
robed with purple iris, and apple

orchards were in their full glory
of blossom ana@ shrill green leaf.
‘This mellow, lovely old city is
actually the cradle of Georgian
culture. Until the fifth century
it was the capital of Georgia, and
there remain many ancient puild-
ings and archeological remains
dating back to before the Christian
era.

In striking contrast to this age-
mellowed dreamy city, the Zemo-
Avchalian Hydro station and dam
greet one on the far side of
Mtskhet, presided over by. a great

A Woman’s Diary

7JEX\HE coming

_ winter is a
very black one
for Canada generally, and
particularly for the prairie
people who have no means
whatsoever of obtaining food

A Terrible
Situation.

and shelter unless the government _

does something for them. Mriven
by conditions from their homes,
they will naturally trek to the
nearest industrial centre in the
hope of getting work to tide them
over the winter.

In the meantime, unemploy-
ment inereases and with it the
general tightening up of relief
regulations, so that many people
are being cut off relief and left
to starve. As the year gets older,
the situation will become worse
unless something is done about it.

In addition to their own unem-
ployed who need food and clothing
and roofs over their heads, the in-

dustrial areas will find themselves
flooded with drought - stricken
farmers from the prairie who have
no other recourse but to come to
where they can at least try to get
work, or relief.

This is the situation which is
coming before us, and it is a ter-
rible one. In Ganada—the Jand of
wheat and untold wealth in nat-
ural resources—thousands of peo-
ple are facing starvation.

What are we going to do about
it? Are we going to sit down and
say, “Well, thank goodness my
husband is working, anyway. Im
sorry for all these people, but £
can’t help it-’ — Or are we going
to organize ourselves into militant
bands of women and demand, with
the starving people, that they be
given a fair deal—food to eat,
houses to live in, clothes to wear?

After all, we are not demanding
impossible luxuries, but the bare
necessities of life.

© the group of
Mother Vancouver who
Bloor. recently sent her a

brooch shaped in the
form of a hammer and sickle on
the occasion of her 75th birthday,
Mother Bloor has sent the follow-
ing reply: :
Bush Hotel,
Quakertown, Penn., USA.

Dear Comrades: ~
*7oman’s Commission,
BC District, CP of C.

Your letter and gift came to me
in time to wear the beautiful pin
at the Siaten Island festival. I
am very proud of it, and of the
loving comrades who sent it. I
remember you all at the memor-
able event in Seattle. I believe SE
can keep to my promise to see you
all in Canada about next spring.
Am very well and happy- Such an
outpouring of love and comrade-
ship everywhere. Give my com-

figure of Lenin pointing down at
the vast sliver mirror of the reser-
voir. It is the first power station
of Georgia, and it supplies
Tiflis and its industria] district
with electric power.

As Thad arrived at Omljonikidze
the previous evening with my
arms full of flowers, so I ap-
proached Tiflis early that evening:
with great bunches of flowers
given me by the peasants, shep-
herds, and one city worker with
whom Il had made my journey
over the highway. Russians simply

Co

by

radely love to your district mem-
bership.

Yours always,

ELLA REEVE BLOOR.

LLEN WiL-

Women And KINSON,
British Labor

The Ballot. Rie See ee

recent article: What do the women
of today want? She says votes
were used by women years ago as
a means of acquiring status. Now
that we have votes, we don’t use
them to our advantage. Quite a
lot of us still vote for eandidates
pecause they are good looking, or
good speakers, regardless of
whether they really have the in-
terests of the people at heart.
Thus we have the situation as it
is at present.

Ti we women do not take ad-
yantage of the opportunities that
are given to us, they will be taken
away and then we shall have no

cannot resist flowers. Men and
women carry them, and wear
them, and present them to one as
freely and naturally as they re-
turn one’s smile in passing.

Tiflis was bathed in the gold of
the setting sun. Turks, Tartars,
Georgians, Armenians, Gossacks,
Persians, and Greeks erowded the
streets. I was in the present
capital of Georgia, in the noisiest,
most colorful and stimulating city
imaginable. Behind me lay a vivid
experience; before me beckoned
another.

Victoria Post

choice but to spend our lives being
terribly dumb on the question of
public welfare.

By using our votes, I don’t speci-
fically mean at election time,
most of us belong to organizations
Gf you dont, you should), we
con use our vyoice and vote in
that organization to promote pro-
gressive measures for the welfare
of our people.

*
F you still
A Tip For have jam to
Jam-Making- make, use this
tip, or if not,

then remember it for next year.

Epsom salts can be used with
great success in place of Certo.
This is obviously much cheaper
and does not give any bad flavor
to the jam. It also makes the jam
set beautifully. Use it in propor-
tion of one good teaspoonful to
five pounds of jam.

seemed certain that he must have
been buried beneath the debris,
and she involuntarily gave a pierc-
ing shriek as if she were looking
at his dead body. But the dome of
the mosque stood intact and she
would not believe her vision. After
all, the roof of her hut might
have escaped, and he might still
be alive, though he would be cry-
ing. There beyond the alleyway.
... She would donate sweet sugar
on the shrines of all the Pirs if
he were safe.

She saw, however, that the roof
of her hut was burning, and one
of the walls had halffallen in,
while some of the woodwork was
crackling.

She hesitated to look around,
beckoning the courage of her will
beyond the despair of her fright-
ened body and mind. Then she
rushed into the courtyard, her nos-
trils filled swith the smell of
smoulderine cloth, her eves smoked
into blindness. She swung her-
arms forward to open the door, and
was met with an avalanche of
fumes. But she dived into the
hovel and groped towards the child.

The cot on which he lay was
burning, and the child was red
with whining, its fists raised into
the air in the last struggle to
clutch at something.

“My child, my son!’ she sobbed,
and fell upon him with a wild
flourish of her arms, both out of
love and with the desire to smother
the fire if it had singed any part
of his body.

Then she lifted him and turned,
her head bent forward, her rumps
lageing behind.

The straw roof of the hut fell
and barred the doorway.

She picked up an earthen jar
which steod on the floor and
hurled it at the debris of the fallen
roof. But beyound fanning the
flames, the jar fell, extinguishing:
only a bare patch of fire, while
the water flowed down singing.

There was nothing for it but
to crawl through the hole made
by the crumbling of the wall on
the side. :

She hugged the weeping bundle
of her child's flesh next to her
preast, and said as if it would
listen: ‘‘Don’t ery, my babe, don’t
ery.” And then, covering it with
her apron, she rushed forward.

Her feet caught the red-hot coal
of a wooden pillar, and she
shrieked. But she was already on
the other side of the rent in the
wall with the child safe in her
arms. She tottered as if she would
give in, paled, but then she
pressed the boy deep to her chest
again, giving it a weak smile, as
if to put courage into him and
herself, and pushed forward
through the courtyard.

But she felt her apron burning.
She bent and tore it off her head-
It burnt her hand and caught her
tunic even as She cast it to the
wind. She rubbed her arm over
the skirt, and smothering the
flame, ran through the lane.

HE mud huts were crackling
and falling, and the debris in

the lane was aflame with flames
which soared to the sky, breaking

up into shining particles like
shooting stars, which fell away
extinguished.

She looked back towards the
mosque to see if she eould escape
through the alley that lay under
its shadow. But now the dome of
the mosque had fallen athwart thr
courtyard, and it was likely that
the way there was barred com-
pletely.

“Abdul Mejid! Oh, Abdul Mejidt’
she cried, as she circled round and
round in the trap. “Qh, save my
child!"

But there was no answer to her
feeble voice among the voices of
this hell, except the groaning of
people in adjacent houses, among
the roaring of the flames of fire
which wrestled for mastery with
the thundering demons overhead,
who had been let loose by Allah in
recompense for the evil deeds of
this ill-fated city.

With a shriek and a groan, she
pressed her child fast to her bosom
and rushed towards the end of
the lane by which she had entered,
thinking that she would jump
across the only beam that seemed
to be burning there above the
debris...

But when she got within ten
yards of it, she saw that a whole
roof had fallen across the mouth
of the lane, and the burning straw
beneath the mounds of clay was
flaring up wildly.

“Oh, Allah, where ars you?” she
cried, striking her fist on her head.
“Qh, Allah, hear my cry! On,
Prophet of Allah, intercede on my
behalf! Oh, Shamus?’

And she rocked with hysterical
eries, alone, unhearing and un-
heard. And then she stood, dazed
by the fearful impenetrable cur-
tain of fire that ridged her path,
her body aching with the sting of
the terrible, all-pervading heat,
her head wheeling with the weak-
ness that the breathing of volumes
of odorous smoke had created.
She looked down at her child and
saw that it was fainting.

She jumped desperately across
the ramparts of the fire, her mind
struggling against the twilight of
a breath with the brittle dageer
of her will. But she fell into the
pit of the straw roof and lay
across the flames, groaning with
the torture of a heart that would
not burn, weeping blood from the
eyes that bulged out of their

sockets, but would not close, sob--

bing, with the face of her ehild
pressed to her cheeks, 2 sob that
would not choke her. - “My
ehild, my child, oh. my ehild.””

The agents of Eblis seemed to
stand fixed on the western hori-
zon, remote and distant, after
their magnificent dance in the air,
as if they were witnessing with
serene satisfaction the fire, the
carnase, and the destruction they
had let Joose in the abyss of the
nether worlds. ..- -

Neat

{)
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:
ey

Ramrabeseoean

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3

er eaneee Waar