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o my eyes。
“I haven’t seen him; neither did I see Shekure’s flight from the house。”
“How did you know they’d left?”
“From your face。”
“Tell me everything;” he said decisively。
Black was so troubled he didn’t understand that Esther—her eye eternally
at the window; her ear eternally to the ground—could never “tell everything”
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if she wanted to continue to be the Esther who found husbands for so many
dreamy maidens and knocked on the doors of so many unhappy homes。
“What I’ve heard;” I said; “is that the brother of Shekure’s former husband;
Hasan; visited your house”—it heartened him when I said “your house”—
“and told Shevket that his father was on his way home from war; that he
would arrive around midafternoon; and that if he didn’t find Shevket’s
mother and brother in their rightful home; he’d be very upset。 Shevket told
this to his mother; who acted cautiously; but couldn’t e to a decision。
Toward midafternoon; Shevket left the house to be with his Uncle Hasan and
his grandfather。”
“Where did you learn these things?”
“Hasn’t Shekure told you about Hasan’s schemes over the last two years to
get her back to his house? There was a time when Hasan sent letters to Shekure
through me。”
“Did she ever respond to them?”
“I know all the varieties of women in Istanbul;” I said proudly; “there’s no
one who’s as bound to her house; her husband and her honor as Shekure is。”
“But I am her husband now。”
His voice bore that typically male uncertainty that always depressed me。
Amazingly; to whichever side Shekure fled; the other si
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