Androvsky glanced at him for the first time.
“Speak to him, Madame? Why?”
“He—he’s horrible!”
She felt a sudden disinclination to tell Androvsky why the old man was horrible to her.
“What do you wish me to say to him?”
“I thought perhaps you might be able to stop him from doing that.”
Androvsky bent down and spoke to the old man in Arabic.
He shot out his arms and reiterated his trembling shriek. It pierced the sound of prayer as lightning pierces cloud.
Domini got up quickly.
“I can’t bear it,” she said, still in a whisper. “It’s as if he were cursing God.”