"
"And how did they do before they died?" said the Inspector.
"They ran about in the sun, and slavered at the mouth till they
died."
"Wherefore?"
"God knows. He sent the madness. It was no fault of mine."
"Thy own mouth hath answered thee." The Inspector laughed. "It is
with men as it is with dogs. God afflicts some with a madness. It
is no fault of ours if such men run about in the sun and froth at
the mouth. The man who is coming will emit spray from his mouth
in speaking, and will always edge and push in towards his
hearers. When ye see and hear him ye will understand that he is
afflicted of God: being mad. He is in God's hands."
"But our titles--are our titles to our lands good?" the crowd
repeated.
"Your titles are in my hands--they are good," said the Governor.
"And he who wrote the writings is an afflicted of God?" said
Farag's uncle.
"The Inspector hath said it," cried the Governor. "Ye will see
when the man comes. O sheikhs and men, have we ridden together
and walked puppies together, and bought and sold barley for the
horses that after these years we should run riot on the scent of
a madman--an afflicted of God?"
"But the Hunt pays us to kill mad jackals," said Farag's uncle.
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