He was all worked up and sweating at self-mastery, hotter under the collar than I had ever seen him.
"It means," he went on, with a hand on each knee and his strange eyes fixed steadily on Feisul's, "that the French are ready to attack you.
It means they're sure of capturing your person--and bent on seeing your finish.

They'll give you a drumhead court martial and make excuses afterward." "Inshallah," Feisul answered, meaning "If Allah permits it." "That is exactly the right word!" Grim exploded; and Lord, he was hard put to it to keep excitement within bounds.
I could see his neck trembling, and there were little beads of sweat on his temple.

It was Grim at last without the mask on.

"Allah marks the destiny of all of us.

Do you suppose we're here for nothing--at this time ?" Feisul smiled.
"I am glad to see you," he said simply.
"Are you planning to fight the French ?" Grim asked him suddenly, in the sort of way that a man at close quarters lets rip an upper-cut.
"I must fight or yield.