Abdulla spoke in deep tones, and now and then this flowing monotone was interrupted by a querulous exclamation, a weak moan or a plaintive quaver of the old man.Yes.

It was annoying not to be able to make out what they were saying, thought Babalatchi, as he sat gazing fixedly at the unsteady glow of the fire.
But it will be right.

All will be right.

Abdulla inspired him with confidence.

He came up fully to his expectation.