yell of the Timur-Lang Clan, she said—and became so wild, and made the fighting seem so real that we liked to watch her. And she was really brave; for she never minded worms—which made Djimlah and me wriggle like one.
Chakendé did not speak with dislike of the Turks to me. She looked upon them entirely as her people. "We have become one race," she said. "They are full of our blood, and we are full of theirs. Besides, we are of the same faith."
I could see, in spite of Djimlah's affection for me, and the old hanoum's kindness and tolerance, and of the politeness of all the Turks toward us, that they held a Christian to be inferior to a Mohammedan. They did not say much about it, but I felt that they considered themselves a superior race, by virtue of their origin and religion. As I grew older, I no longer entered into national or religious discussions. I did not even mind their feeling superior, since I knew that this feeling was all they had, and that the real superiority lay with us, and if they did not have this mistaken conceit they would be very sorry for themselves. And, in spite of my kindly feelings toward them, I was always aware that deep down in my heart was planted the seed of hatred toward them—a seed which was never to wither and die, even if it were not to grow very large.
I wonder if there will ever come a time when
