Mohammed bin Mohammed tucked a handful of local currency into the front of the boy’s pants note by note and then sent him on his way back to the madrassa.The eleven-year-old had been exquisite. Maybe not as exquisite as the European or Arab boys he was accustomed to, but
one made do with what one had at hand.
Once Mohammed had finished bathing, he brewed himself another glass of tea and stepped out onto the terrace. It was darker than normal for this time of evening—the clouds of an approaching storm having hidden the stars overhead.
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