me after an accident that occurred at a girls' school in Tripoli — I believe it was the collapse of a balcony, which resulted in injuries and deaths. Jihan wrote to me, saying —

"Samira, my friend, in such a case I cannot keep myself from total absorption and total attraction in the question of fate and destiny. He lied who said that we choose and are not driven. I cannot believe that when a man makes his preparations and readies his equipment, matters proceed according to his will and success accompanies his every step.

Tell me, what was the sin of those innocent girls, and what could they have done to ward off from themselves this decree?

And did it — did it ever occur to one of them that her end would come in this dreadful form?

Then what is man's worth in relation to life, and what is the worth of this soul whose owner does all in his power to guarantee its safety and happiness? Is it not like an insect crushed by the feet of the fates without those fates knowing what they do — as though it, the soul, had never been possessed of mind and thought and hopes and aims?

Is not a single germ among the germs of disease enough to destroy it with a final destruction from which there is no return, ever?"

× × × ×

I do not know, Jihan, nor do I remember what conclusions I produced then to answer your philosophical questionings. But I — but we, your friends — answer you at this hour with a reply tinged with the philosophy of one who concedes the existence of the stronger Hand, the Hand that cannot be turned back, and we say: Yes, they are final decrees, but they erased only Jihan the

body. As for Jihan the spirit... Jihan the legacy — she is still alive, breathing in our consciences and in manuscripts that wait to come out into life, that literature in our country may know that here was a woman who gave with-out boasting and burned without boasting, and who was, in her life and in her death, one of the stories

of the great soul's struggle, which neither sickness nor pain keeps from lighting a candle rather than cursing the darkness.

God rest you, my friend: you gave more than you took, in a life which, if measured in depth, earned the honor of being called a life.

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E.F. 2-56