It was only then that he looked up and saw that I was wishing him to take a cigarette.
He did so quickly, and saluted me without a word.
One of the others said in tender tones: 'Blame him not, O my lord, for he is mad with sorrow.

He is more luckless than the rest of us--may Allah help him! He killed the person he loved best on earth--his only brother.' 'Then it is true that you are murderers ?' I asked, still half-incredulous.
'By Allah, it is true, alas! and we are paying for it by a year's enslavement.' 'A year! No more than that,' I cried, 'for killing men ?' 'And is it not enough, O lord of kindness?
It is not as if we had killed men from malice or desire of gain.

We killed in sudden anger, or, in the case of three among us, in a faction-fight.

It is from Allah; and we ask forgiveness.' 'How did that man kill ?' I questioned, pointing to the apathetic figure of the fratricide, which attracted my imagination by its loneliness.
'He suffered persecutions from a rich man of his village, who was his rival for the favour of a certain girl--so it is said.

Those persecutions maddened him at times.