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I can only repeat “praise God,” though in face of what we have seen even these words seem almost mockery.

“God is great,” said the holy man, “but man will not understand His greatness. God loves the East, whence came thought, philosophy, and faith. The Christ we, too, venerate, came from the East. Yet the West has given us nought but injustice. You who love the East, pray for tolerance and understanding between all peoples.”

The muezzin has awakened all the soldiers in the mountains. One could fancy a scurry of rabbits from the hidden tents. They are fetching water for the ablutions, and I, too, must wash me—in eau de Cologne. The blood flowing into my numbed limbs forces a cry I cannot stifle. “That is what happens when a woman goes out to war,” I said with a laugh, for the officer confessed that I had given him some anxious moments.

Yet another cup of tea outside the now stifling tent, over the exquisite violet-tinted fumes of a charcoal fire—deadly poison, maybe, but harmless so long as you do not know.