The peasant watched it all in silence, as if waiting for some new sorcery of the Firengi, from his high bank of the Karun—that snow-born river bound for distant palms, that had seen so many generations of the faces of men, so many of the barks to which men trust their hearts, their hopes, their treasures, as it wound, century after century, from the mountains to the sea.
Then, at last, the peasant folded his hands anew and bowed his head toward Mecca.
THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS
GARDEN CITY, N. Y.
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation errors have been silently corrected.
[Page vii]: “left ununtouched” changed to “left untouched”
[Page 36]: “familar genius” changed to “familiar genius”
[Page 245]: “never breathe a a word” changed to “never breathe a word”
[Page 282]: “above the the jagged” changed to “above the jagged”