He felt his heart beat with tumultuous frenzy, his throat was husky, and he could not speak.
It was not until the veil had been replaced that he found himself able to articulate.
“It is Girzilla, and yet—no, my Girzilla differs——”
He was confused.
“Tell me, where is thy Girzilla? What years hath she counted? Is she thy wife?”
“No, would to Allah she were!”
“Who is she, then?”
“Wilt thou allow my friend Max to come here? He it was who brought Girzilla to me.”
Mohammed was interested, but at the same time considerably piqued.
“Would Max want to see his wife unveiled?” the Arab wondered, and was about to refuse when his wife pleaded in her musical Arabian: