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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Garden Of Allah, by Robert Hichens This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Garden Of Allah Author: Robert Hichens Release Date: April 11, 2006 [EBook #3637] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GARDEN OF ALLAH *** Produced by Dagny; John Bickers THE GARDEN OF ALLAH BY ROBERT HICHENS PREPARER'S NOTE This text was prepared from an edition published by Grosset & Dunlap, New York. It was originally published in 1904. CONTENTS BOOK I. PRELUDE BOOK II. THE VOICE OF PRAYER BOOK III. THE GARDEN BOOK IV. THE JOURNEY BOOK V. THE REVELATION BOOK VI. THE JOURNEY BACK THE GARDEN OF ALLAH BOOK I. PRELUDE CHAPTER I The fatigue caused by a rough sea journey, and, perhaps, the consciousness that she would have to be dressed before dawn to catch the train for Beni-Mora, prevented Domini Enfilden from sleeping. There was deep silence in the Hotel de la Mer at Robertville. The French officers who took their pension there had long since ascended the hill of Addouna to the barracks. The cafes had closed their doors to the drinkers and domino players. The lounging Arab boys had deserted the sandy Place de la Marine. In their small and dusky bazaars the Israelites had reckoned up the takings of the day, and curled themselves up in gaudy quilts on their low divans to rest. Only two or three _gendarmes_ were still about, and a few French and Spaniards at the Port, where, moored against the wharf, lay the steamer _Le General Bertrand_, in which Domini had arrived that evening from Marseilles. In the hotel the fair and plump Italian waiter, who had drifted to North Africa from Pisa, had swept up the crumbs from the two long tables in the _salle-a-manger_, smoked a thin, dark cigar over a copy of the _Depeche Algerienne_, put the paper down, scratched his blonde head, on which the hair stood up in bristles, stared for a while at nothing in the firm manner of weary men who are at the same time thoughtless and depressed, and thrown himself on his narrow bed in the dusty corner of the little room on the
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