truth broke upon me. I wanted to scream in the vendor's face, to slap his ugly cheek! How could he mock people — even the little ones among people! What a fool I had been! His shop in our quarter is still in its founding stage! Perhaps he means to make znoud el-sett in the future, but I don't think he has begun yet... Why was he too cowardly to tell the truth yesterday... and today? Did he make light of my thirteen years, and take me for a mere passerby, and not one who cared? How had they all collapsed, the sweet hopes that kept me company by day and that I pillowed my head on at night? How did that wretch dare make sport of me?!

My mother will be pleased with me when I tell her how I held myself in and let fall no unworthy word! And how I walked away steady-nerved, and "like a man," as she always wants me to be. But a fierce, silent struggle was wail-ing inside me.. What a crushing disappointment had hold of me — I wanted to cry... to burst out sob-bing — at last the arrival of the tram rescued me from a moment of weakness that I would, no doubt, have regretted afterward..

I looked at my watch: half past six. So I boarded the tram, and a diabolical idea had flashed in my head, descending on me like an inspiration! Around "the Burj" there are many shops with every kind of sweets, and beyond all doubt they have "znoud el-sett!.." And before lessons began I had a full hour — sixty minutes, enough and to spare... And once more I felt that I was a "man" who handles his problems himself and overcomes the difficulties of life! I took care to count my money well before entering the shop, lest some boyish gesture escape me in front of the customers who throng such

shops, most of them businessmen, of my father's age and older!! And at the memory of my father my heart tightened on the instant! Had he — God rest his soul — still been alive, he would have spared me this agitation and anxiety... I heaved a deep sigh and with it drove the gloom away at once — this was no time for it! And I took comfort in three liras and a few piasters, enough to satisfy my craving.., and my mother's and my sister's too?

I am now on my way home.. thoughts upon thoughts contend within me, some very near at hand, some sunk deep in time... In my hands is my mother's and my sister's share of "znoud el-sett," its warmth seeping into my fingertips and its fragrance

tickling my nose... As for me — praise God — I have had my complete fill of them.. I feel my whole being watered and content, but for a sweet, tender memory that comes back to me every now and again, pinching my delicate feelings to the point of pain — a memory I lived in Tripoli ten years ago, when we were at the very summit of happiness: as if I were, on a certain spring afternoon, on my father's knee, in the pride of my innocent childhood, devouring, heedless, "znoud el-sett" from his hand, one after another, while he teased me with words I did not then understand: —

"You rascal... your taste is just like your father's... there is nothing tastier than the znoud of the ladies!!!"

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