Anyway the elegant and expensive gowns she had worn in the warmth of the summer months at Balaclava could not have kept out the cold of the winter and might have betrayed her when she wished to appear unobtrusive and insignificant.
Hamid bought her cheap clothes, which were unfashionable but warm, yet even so Yamina could not help endowing them with a grace that made everything she wore become a part of herself.
Her father grew worse, but they did not dare to send for a physician.
Yamina nursed him as best she could while regretting that she had not studied medicine instead of the many literary subjects that interested both her and her father.
“I am sure the Master will be better when the warmer weather comes,” she said to Hamid not once but a thousand times.
And it seemed to her that
