Horace.
[Calmly.] Quite so; and I can help you to return from it. I'm not an Efreet, and if I undertake to bottle you up and drop you into a deep part of our river here, you can depend on me to do it.
Fakrash.
Undertake this, and in return I will grant thee thy life.
Horace.
[Disguising his satisfaction.] Not good enough! You must offer better terms than that! What have you done to deserve any help from me?
Fakrash.
Have I not loaded thee with kindnesses?
Horace.
Kindnesses! Till I met you I was happy and hopeful—now, I'm miserable and desperate!