Then he said I must marry Mustapha. That
is why I ran away with Harry. See? Oh, Hamdi is shocking bad."
From this and from other side-lights Carlotta has thrown on her
upbringing, I can realise the poor, pretty weak-willed baby of a
thing that was her mother, taking the line of least resistance,
the husband dead and the babe in her womb, and entering the
shelter offered by the amorous Turk. And I can picture her
during the fourteen years of her imprisoned life, the
disillusion, the heart-break, the despair. No wonder the
invertebrate soul could do no more for her daughter than teach
her monosyllabic English and the rudiments of reading and
writing. Doubtless she babbled of western life with its freedom
and joyousness for women; but four years have elapsed since her
death, and her stories are only elusive memories in Carlotta's
mind.
It is strange that among the deadening influences of the harem
she has kept the hereditary alertness of the Englishwoman. She
has a baby mouth, it is true; she pleads to you with the eyes of
a dog; her pretty ways are those of a young child; but she has
not the dull, soulless, sensual look of the pure-bred Turkish
woman, such as I have seen in Cairo through the transparent
veils.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127