A few donkeys in the last
stages of starvation had been sent in to gather strength by resting, one
at least was too far gone to eat. Even the mules of the Susi tribesmen
were not in a very promising condition. It was an easy task to count their
ribs, and they were badly in need of rest and a few square meals. Tied in
the covered cloisters of the fandak there was some respite for them from
the attack of mosquitoes, but the donkeys, being cheap and of no
importance, were left to all the torments that were bound to be associated
with the place.
Only one human being faced the glare of the light and trod fearlessly
through the mire that lay eight or ten inches deep on the ground, and he
was a madman, well-nigh as tattered and torn as the one I had angered in
the Kaisariyah on the morning after my arrival in the city. This man's
madness took a milder turn. He went from one donkey to another, whispering
in its ear, a message of consolation I hope and believe, though I had no
means of finding out. When I entered the fandak he came running up to me
in a style suggestive of the gambols of a playful dog, and I was
exceedingly annoyed by a thought that he might not know any difference
between me and his other friends.
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