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with surprise at that instant； it

wasn’t　the　least　bit　sincere。

So that my feelings and desires might be rightfully understood； I must

presently　lay　bare　the　meaning　of　this　distinction　between　truth　and　sincerity

that I’ve e to know for the first time： How expressing one’s reality in

words；　as　truthful　as　they　might　be；　goads　one　to　insincerity。　Perhaps；　the　best

example　might　be　made　of　us　miniaturists；　who’ve　grown　edgy　of　late　due　to

the　murderer　in　our　midst。　Consider　a　perfect　painting—the　image　of　a　horse；

for instance—no matter how well it represents a real horse； the horse

meticulously　conceived　by　Allah　or　the　horses　of　the　great　master　miniaturists；

it　might　still　fail　to　match　the　sincerity　of　the　talented　miniaturist　who　drew

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it。　The　sincerity　of　the　miniaturist；　or　of　us　humble　servants　of　Allah；　doesn’t

emerge in moments of talent and perfection； on the contrary； it emerges

through　slips　of　the　tongue；　mistakes；　fatigue　and　frustration。　I　say　this　for　the

sake　of　those　young　ladies　who　will　bee　disillusioned　when　they　see　that

there was no difference between the strong desire I felt for Shekure at that

moment—as she too could tell—and； say； the dizzying lust I’d felt for a

delicately featured； copper…plexioned； burgundy…mouthed Kazvin beauty

during　my　travels。　With　her　profound　God…given　savvy　and　jinnlike　intuition；

Shekure understood both my being able to withstand twelve years of pure

torture for love’s sake as well as my behaving like a miserable thrall of lust

who　thought　of　nothing　but　the